Family Matters
by 29Pieces
Summary: It's no secret that John Winchester holds a prejudice against anything non-human. That includes angels. Angels who have no business being this close to his boys. Not even a fallen angel who helped save the world. Mysteriously alive once more, John can't fathom why his sons would be running around with a halo in his absence, but if they don't get rid of it, he will. Post S5 AU gen
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: To set the stage: this is an AU beginning after Swan Song. In this version, Cas still raises Sam from the Cage, but manages to do so with Sam's soul intact. Instead, it was most of his own grace that had to be sacrificed in the rescue, so he's practically human. Dean doesn't go to Lisa, so TFW is together again!_

 _Also, I've seen prompts with John coming back and Dean having to explain his romantic relationship with a non-human to his father, so I'll mention up front that this is a slash-free fic, Dean and Cas (and Sam, for that matter) have a completely platonic, familial friendship._

 _This fic is dedicated to Miyth, who asked for a fic with John rejoining the family and the inevitable subsequent abuse that Cas has to take as a result. I hope this is what you were looking for! ^_^_

 _Thanks as always to Aini NuFire, magnificent beta reader that she is!_

 _I don't own the SPN characters, I just like to play with them in my writer's sandbox._

* * *

 **Chapter 1 – In Which John Winchester First Meets Castiel**

None of this would have even been an issue if he'd had just a _little_ more grace, Castiel thought with a touch of irritation as he advanced on the demons with blade in hand. Not that he was complaining; his grace had been more than fair payment to rescue Sam from the Cage, and given the chance to go back, he would have made the same choice.

Still, smiting these two foul creatures to Hell would have been so much more efficient. That was beyond his abilities now, though.

"Dean! Sam!" Castiel called out over his shoulder without taking his eyes off the retreating demons. It was doubtful that they would hear him in time to come help corral these two; they were still on the other side of the ramshackle power plant, trying to track down some clues as to why the people of Rockport, Idaho were going insane.

"Look, leave us alone," one of the demons whined, both of them retreating further under the rusted catwalks in a clear attempt to put more distance between themselves and the angel. "We ain't hurtin' nobody!"

"We're just two low level nobodies!" the other insisted as it ducked behind its partner. "We ain't got nothin' to do with Lucifer!"

"Lucifer's been back in the Cage for two months already," Castiel reminded them with annoyed disdain, continuing to advance on the pair. Their hideous true faces creased with terror – low level indeed. "You really think that's any concern?"

"Come on, just let us go!" the first pleaded, its whimper not touching Castiel's heart in the slightest. If they would just hold still, he could get them with his blade. "Whoever's messing with these hicks ain't with us!"

This time Castiel did slow to a stop, squinting at the pair of demons with suspicion and thoughtfulness. If they knew something about this case, some information would be useful. Currently, the Winchesters had no leads at all, other than that the last victim had been found at this power plant, out of use for the last thirty years or so. It wasn't much to go on.

"What is it, then?" he growled.

The demons took the opportunity to duck behind a curtain of clunky chains draped down over the dilapidated rail of the level above. "Don't know!" one of them squeaked.

Castiel's eyes narrowed. "Then you aren't much use to me."

"Wait!"

"Do you know something or not?"

The frightened demons were blubbering now, clamoring to tell what they knew – which seemed to amount to nothing at all, beyond that they had heard what was happening and had hoped to find someone stronger than themselves to join up with. Castiel couldn't help rolling his eyes. It was a human trait that he'd picked up from the Winchesters, now that he was spending so much time with them. After all, returning to Heaven was utterly out of the question. Raphael would have his head for his part in averting the Apocalypse.

Patience gone, Castiel drew himself up with a ferocious glare. Intensity burned in his face, the tattered remnants of his grace heating up to illuminate his body in a brilliant glow. He no longer had the power to smite the vile creatures, but when the lights flashed in the power plant again, he could see the demons cringe away with terror in their eyes as they looked beyond him to the shadows of once-glorious wings covering the wall.

Perhaps those wings were no longer the marvel they had been; Castiel himself would never turn to look, unable to bear the sight of the now skeletal appendages, wrecked feathers still continuing to drift like ghosts to the ground. He was hardly vain, but they were a visible reminder of the power he no longer had to protect his friends. Castiel had known the price well before he was asked to pay it, though.

Besides… the sight was clearly no less terrifying. The angel's radiantly blue eyes burned with righteous fury, and he took one more step towards the hapless pair.

"Tell me what I need to know!"

The demons scrambled backwards, clawing each other out of the way to avoid the wrath of the angel. They seemed to have nothing more to say.

Very well.

Even with only a fraction of his grace remaining, Castiel was more than a match for two low level demons. He lunged forward with thunder in his lightning eyes. Two swift strokes was all it took for a warrior of his skill; two strokes, and light burst from the demons, white hot with hellfire. The dying echoes of their screams ricocheted off the crumbling metal of the power plant and the dead vessels dropped to the ground with dull splats of flesh on concrete.

Instantly, pain burst in his chest, and Castiel closed his eyes. His sword arm dropped as he clutched at his head with his free hand. The agony… the torment he brought on others… the human bodies he had just killed…

 _"Let me show you, brother… you are every bit the monster that I am. Let me show you every ounce of pain you have caused others in your lifetime, and you tell ME who is the monster."_

Two months after escaping with Sam from the Cage, Castiel could still remember, could still feel Lucifer's condemning fire consuming his being, killing him over and over and over with the cumulative pain of every death his own hands had ever wrought.

It was a phantom pain now, the ghostly echo of an agony that existed only in his memory of Hell – very different from the very _physical_ , very _real_ pain that suddenly erupted from his back in fiery streaks.

Castiel gasped, whirling around as he instinctively raised his weapon and reached a hand over his shoulder. His fingertips brushed the leather bound hilt of a dagger at the same time that his eyes registered the attacker who had sneaked up and plunged it into his back. Castiel stopped dead in his tracks.

Of all the faces he'd expected he might see, John Winchester's had never been one of them.

"What-"

"Silver knife doesn't do it, huh?" John snapped, his hooded gaze focused in on the angel with single-minded intensity. He'd already danced back, posture set into a ready crouch. From within his coat, the Winchester whipped out a machete, of all things. "Then let's see how you do without a _head_."

"John Winchester?"

To say that Castiel was baffled wouldn't have come close to the extent of his shock. His first thought was that perhaps this was another demon, playing games with him, but he didn't see any tell-tale mutilated true face of a hellish beast. But how and why could John Winchester _possibly_ be here?

His second, dry thought was that he was getting tired of Winchesters stabbing him upon their first encounters. Castiel pulled the dagger from his back, still staring, as his body sluggishly started to heal itself.

"Don't think I've had the pleasure," John grunted, voice even but every line of his face filled with wrath. "I don't think I'm interested, either." He darted forward, machete raised with clear intent; Castiel side-stepped quickly, his natural speed one of the few remaining gifts that he had.

Beheading an angel wouldn't kill them, of course, but healing from that would be highly inconvenient in his state, and if this was truly John Winchester then Castiel had no intention of actually fighting him.

"Hold on-"

"Hold _still_ , monster!"

"Wait… I'm not a monster-"

John didn't bother responding; he simply spun around and rushed back in, machete at the ready to take Castiel's head off. The angel ducked back again, his angel blade in one hand and John's dagger in the other. He raised neither, afraid that in the chaos, one might actually wound his friends' father. They couldn't do this dance forever, though. How could he get through to the mysteriously revived hunter that even though he glowed and had wings – shabby as they were – he was neither a monster nor a threat?

Looking over John's back, Castiel suddenly straightened. There were Dean and Sam, finally, pounding towards them with fury in their faces. He held out a hand warningly. "It's alright!" he yelled.

"Get away from him!"

Dean couldn't see that it was his father, Castiel realized, and why would he assume that it was? "Wait, Dean!"

At the sound of his son's voice, and then his name, John's eyes narrowed. "Dean?!" he shouted over his shoulder, machete still extended towards Castiel threateningly. "That you?!"

The two boys stumbled to a crashing halt, Sam colliding with Dean as they stared at John with open shock in their eyes. Their mouths hung open, expressions showing a war between desperate hope and absolute fury.

"What _is_ that thing?!" Dean bellowed. His gun was held aloft, but the barrel was pointed straight at John. Castiel's eyes widened – of course their first assumption would be that it was a monster assuming John's form – and he raised a hand.

"Dean… _don't_!"

At the same time, John yelled back to them, "I'm not sure, but silver doesn't work! Go, boys, get out of here! I'll hold it off!"

"What?" Sam looked from John to Castiel, uncertainty ripe in his features. "Hold…?"

"Someone better tell me what the _hell_ is going on here!" Dean shouted, looking ready to breathe fire. "Who are you?! _What_ are you!?"

"I said go! Now, Dean!"

With the machete still extended towards Castiel, and Dean's gun still pointed at John, this was getting out of control. Castiel couldn't help but feel a measure of relief as the naturally calmer Sam stepped forward, arms held out and a cool glare on his face. "Let's everyone just take a step back," he snapped. "Cas?!"

"Sam… I believe this is truly your father." Either that, or the angel's ability to sense an evil presence was diminished to the point of non-existence, but Castiel felt certain that he was right.

The two boys were clearly less confident, as Sam demanded incredulously, "What?! That's impossible!"

"Our father is _dead_ ," Dean ground out, grip on his gun tightening even more. "How could it _possibly_ be him?"

John hadn't moved, save for narrowing vengeful eyes even more, gaze locked on the angel. "We don't have time for this," the hunter snapped back at Dean. "We can catch up later, now I gave you boys a direct order and I expect you to _do as I say_!"

Both Dean and Sam straightened slightly now, eyes growing wide. In the lull, Castiel could feel the air shift from tension to confusion and doubt. Dean was shaking his head, gun wavering in his hand. Finally, slowly, it dropped a fraction.

"Son of a bitch," he murmured. "Sammy… that- that's Dad."

Sam's head jerked around to look at Dean, still wide eyed in disbelief, and then back to John. "…Dad?"

"Yeah, it's me, boys." John's mouth twitched, eyes softening for only a second as he half turned his head towards his sons without actually looking away from the angel he was still holding at bay with the threatening machete.

"But, how-"

"No time," John cut Dean off urgently. "You need to get out of here, right now."

"Why?" demanded Sam with a shake of his head. "What's going on?"

"Look, just do it!" John's voice blistered angrily in the stale air, and Castiel took a step back as the hunter took a step forward. "I don't know what that _thing_ has told you, but it's not human!"

It almost took Castiel's breath away, the level of disgust he saw in John's eyes and heard in his voice. He blinked, swallowing an inexplicable surge of sorrow. He couldn't say why it should matter what John Winchester thought of him; Castiell was an angel, he should be above such concerns, but it had been a long, long time since a human had given him a look of such hatred. From Dean and Sam's confused faces, it was evident that they weren't even sure who John was talking about.

"Wait… what, you mean _Cas_?" Dean demanded.

"It's not whoever you think it is," snapped John. "I saw it, it's a monster! Now for the last time, both of you, RUN!"

The machete rose higher, and Castiel took a step back as it became clear that John was about to rush him once again. The wound in his back had healed completely now, but if he was correct, and this was indeed John Winchester, then they were getting off on the entirely wrong foot. He slid is own blade up his sleeve in what he hoped was a pacifying gesture but the rage in John's dark eyes didn't diminish even slightly.

"Dad, no, wait! We know he's not human!"

Sam had recovered first, hurrying past John and turning, one hand on Castiel's shoulder. This stopped John in his tracks. The dim light filtering through the dusty windows overhead illuminated the look of horror on his face.

"Sammy, get back!"

"Stop," growled Dean – still sounding uncertain about what was going on, as he joined his brother. Castiel noticed that he hadn't put the gun away, clearly not convinced yet. "I don't know what's going on here, but if you're John Winchester, then just stop. We're not _hunting_ Cas!"

The angel watched as John's expression shifted through several layers of revulsion and anger, his mouth opening in a disbelieving search for words. Silently, Castiel extended the dagger back towards John to show that he didn't plan on using the weapon. The hunter didn't take it.

"Dad, he's not a monster," Sam insisted, holding up a hand, his other still sitting on the angel's shoulder. Castiel saw John's eyes lock onto that hand, saw his mouth curl in disgust. Sam seemed to notice as well, because he gave Castiel a slight squeeze, before finishing with obviously forced calm, "This is Castiel. He's an angel."

Dead silence.

Castiel gave it a moment, waiting until he couldn't take the awkward stillness any longer, before quietly speaking up. "It's an honor to meet you."

Nothing. John only stared at him, then at his sons, his expression tight and mouth thin. "A halo?" he demanded, voice barbed and displeased. "You want to explain what's going on, and what it's doing here?"

Dean let out a short, nervous laugh, quickly trading a look with Sam as he finally tucked his gun back into the waistband of his jeans and straightened into a stiff line. "Dad, he- he's an _angel_ ," he repeated. "He's with us."

"We're working a case," Sam jumped in. "There've been five victims already-"

"Gone crazy, started spouting a bunch of gibberish, all of them dead three days later with an arrow through the heart," John finished for him, dropping his arm at long last. Castiel breathed a sigh of relief – the machete would do nothing to harm him, but he doubted that his beheading would make for a smooth, happy reunion as this ought to be.

"You heard?" Dean asked, quirking an eyebrow. John nodded.

"Caught wind of it yesterday, wound up here. Should have figured you two would have connected the same dots." He paused, then smiled for the first time. "It's… it's really good to see you boys."

The final barrier of tension and uncertainty crumbled, as John stepped towards his sons. Castiel could see tears in all three of their eyes, saw Dean swallow hard to stop from choking on his words, as he half whispered,

"It's good to see you too, Dad."

They closed the gap, and John pulled both boys in towards him in a fierce embrace – the kind that was filled with desperation and need, the need to assure themselves that any of this was even real. It was the embrace of a family who'd believed they would never see each other again, but now here they were and their only terrified wish was that this wasn't just a dream. Sam's knuckles were white as he clung to John, Dean's eyes tightly closed as though to block out all other sensations than those of his father.

Castiel's own throat tightened slightly at the touching reunion, tempered with a vague sense that he should retreat, to give them a moment. There wasn't anywhere to retreat to, however, and in the end he merely stood as still and unobtrusive as he could, arms slack at his sides. How it must feel, he thought with a deep and endless ache in his heart, to have a family that would have missed him that much…

When the three pulled apart at last, Sam cleared his throat, giving his head a shake as though to dislodge the overpowering emotions. "Dad," he started, voice slightly raw and gravelly. "Um… not that I'm not… _so_ happy to see you again, but… how?"

"I don't know, son," John replied with a sigh. "Wish I did. Look, I need to talk to you boys. There's a lot of pieces that need filling in. Let's talk over dinner, what do you say?"

"Yeah!" Dean eagerly replied for them, sniffling slightly and then coughing as though to hide it. "Yeah, we're buying."

John smiled, a hand on each of their shoulders, as he turned them towards the door. Castiel straightened then, frowning. "Wait."

" _Just_ you boys," the eldest Winchester instantly snapped, smile vanishing as he turned to glare at the angel. Castiel paused, the tension starting to creep back in as Dean and Sam flashed another look at each other.

"Dad-"

"Of course," Castiel interrupted reassuringly. He had no intention of intruding on this. Surely the three Winchesters had a great deal to talk about. "I'll stay here and continue looking for answers. But… I should hide you." He didn't want to disrupt Dean and Sam's happiness at having their father back… but he also couldn't shake the notion that there were only so many beings with the power to have returned him, and he had no particular desire to run into any of them.

"Oh, yeah." Dean straightened, turning back to John. "Dad, Cas can hide you from the other angels- I mean, from anything that might be following you."

Castiel stepped forward, hand outstretched. The machete was back in John Winchester's hand so fast that the angel could feel the wind as it swung up.

"You stay back."

"Dad, come on," Sam urged, a touch of uneasiness in his tightening posture. "It's an Enochian warding spell. It _works_ , we can vouch for that. Dean and I are warded, too. Let him do it."

Perhaps it wasn't fair to just expect John to trust him without having been given a reason to, Castiel realized as he slowly took another step forward. After all, John had lived a hard life, surrounded by all sorts of evil. Cynicism had probably been his saving grace on more than one occasion. Still, the angel couldn't help but feel another stab of doubt and pain at the look he was receiving from John now. Castiel wasn't the most adept at reading humans and their emotions, but even he could feel how deeply John detested him, how much he still wanted to swing that machete at the angel's head.

Thankfully, the hunter refrained, only grunting slightly as Castiel cautiously approached, then touched a hand to John's chest to brand the sigils into his ribcage. The amount of power that it took – barely noticeable when he was at full strength – made him stumble back weakly and grab a railing for support.

"Cas?" Sam asked worriedly. The angel waved him off with barely concealed irritation at how taxing such a small chore had been.

"I'm fine. Go ahead. I'll stay here."

Dean and Sam seemed hesitant, but John was already turning away with one last scathing look at him. Castiel swallowed, breathing slowly as his grace struggled to refresh itself from his task. Finally, Dean nodded.

"We'll be back. Call if anything comes up."

"Of course." Castiel stood, watching his friends turn and walk away. His mind refused to settle, though, restlessly turning over this mystery. John Winchester was back on Earth, though he knew for a fact that the man's soul had been safely carried to Heaven long before. Someone had brought him back, and Castiel had too much experience with his brothers to believe that it had been done from the kindness of the heart.

Something was going on and he didn't know what. Castiel didn't like not knowing, and he didn't like not being strong enough to do anything about it, and… and he didn't like being called a monster. His head throbbed again, and the angel closed his eyes, wishing he could forget, and wishing he could block out the memory of John's hate-laden, accusing gaze.

SPN SPN SPN

"Raphael, we've lost track of John Winchester."

The lesser angel sounded nervous at having to deliver this news, but Raphael only smiled, his eyes narrowing in contemplation as he slowly tapped his fingers on the arm of his rich leather chair in this borrowed Heaven. He nodded, a calculating expression creasing his face.

"No matter."

"No matter? But… forgive me, I thought the purpose of reviving him was to follow him back to the other two Winchesters and recover Castiel?"

Raphael's gaze shifted to the lesser angel, who gulped and ducked his head.

"Forgive me," the angel repeated softly. Raphael airily waved a hand.

"Don't trouble yourself," he said. "Yes, since the Winchesters and the traitor Castiel are warded from us, John Winchester was the only one who could track them down. If you can no longer sense him, then he has succeeded. Castiel must have warded him as well."

"But… how then will you find him now?"

Again, Raphael waved a hand as though brushing the question aside. There was no worry or concern on his face, only cold confidence, as he replied, "I have no intention of tracking John Winchester down; he will come to me. He'll bring me Castiel, even if he doesn't remember yet that this was the only purpose for which he was returned to his family."

The lesser angel seemed less certain of this, but he was far too smart to argue or question further. Instead, he nodded, mouth set in a grim line. There was a pause, and then he asked, "And when he turns Castiel over to you? What will you do? Are you going to… kill him?"

The tapping on the armchair stopped, the archangel's hand clenching into a fist instead. Thunder rumbled in the distance, Raphael's wrath covering even Heaven under the blanket of a dark storm. "Kill him?" he repeated softly, teeth gritted. "If not for Castiel's interference, Michael and Lucifer would have fulfilled their destiny. Michael would have defeated Lucifer, and Earth would be the paradise it was intended to be! If not for Castiel, we would have everything we wanted. If not for Castiel-"

He broke off, taking a deep breath as his eyes lit with the righteous fire. His glowing blue gaze burned into the lesser angel, as he spat out, "No… I am not going to kill Castiel. Not until he has watched Sam and Dean Winchester's souls be ripped apart for their arrogance. Not until he has tasted the suffering of our brethren for himself. Not until he is _begging_ for death! And then…"

Raphael paused, and his face was a mask of malice in the half shadows, as he finished, "Then… yes. The traitor will die."


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thanks so much to everyone who's followed, favorited, and reviewed! ^_^ Please enjoy, let me know what you think =)_

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 **Chapter 2 – In Which Castiel Needs Some Hugs**

Dean was eating a burger with his father.

That simple fact was enough to floor him, the hunter continuously glancing over at Sammy to make sure his brother was seeing the same thing, and this wasn't just a dream. If Dean woke up and none of it had been real, he wasn't sure how he would survive the pain. They hadn't run into a djinn in that power plant, had they? Having his father back would certainly count as a beautiful dream.

"So, Dad," he asked around a mouthful of burger and bacon, deciding to treat this as though it was definitely real. "How long…?"

John brushed his hands off and leaned back in the booth, his dark eyes serious over a grizzly jaw. He was every bit the fierce drill sergeant that Dean remembered, back from _death_ and already chasing down mysterious cases.

"I've been back about a week," John admitted, looking between the two seriously. "I wish I could explain it. I just woke up, somewhere outside of Montana in the middle of nowhere."

"And no idea who brought you back?" asked Sam, his fork traveling around the salad bowl without picking anything up. "No clue how this is even possible?"

"Sammy, who cares?" Dean pointed out with a grin. Even as he asked the question, though, deep down he knew that they probably _should_ care. Even if this wasn't a djinn-induced, incredible dream, there was no guarantee that it had been done as a favor. They didn't have that kind of luck.

John seemed to agree with that inner part of Dean's mind, because he frowned and leaned forward to rest his chin on steepled fingertips. "We should care," he replied. The familiar low rumble of his voice was a lullaby to Dean, even with the crazy circumstances. "But as I said… I have no idea how I'm back."

Sam nodded, contemplating the salad, before he went on, "What do you remember before waking up?"

"Dying, Sammy. I don't remember Heaven, if that's where I was. I don't remember anything after Yellow Eyes."

Another pause from Sam; then, a troubled, "And that doesn't feel suspicious to anyone?"

"Sammy," Dean spoke up loudly, giving his brother a sidelong glare. Yes, these questions needed to be asked, but couldn't they at least enjoy _dinner_ first? Just one dinner? "We'll figure it out. Besides, _we_ didn't remember Heaven either, and how many times have _we_ been there? Of course he doesn't remember."

Though John's dark eyes had widened slightly in apparent alarm that his boys had been to Heaven – more than once – he merely shook his head. "Your brother's right, Dean. And _yes_ , Sam," he added, voice short now. "Of course it's suspicious, but unless you have some idea how to find out who might have brought me back here, there's not much I can do but wait. Whoever did this probably had a reason, so I'm sure they'll make themselves known eventually."

 _There, see, Sammy?_ Dean thought, giving his brother a look. _Dad knows what he's doing._ He didn't like not knowing either, but Cas said it was definitely him, and as hard as that was to swallow, Dean was more than ready to believe it now. Forget ready, he was _desperate_ to believe it.

Sam still seemed hesitant, which sent a spark of annoyance flashing through Dean. If his brother started arguing with Dad so soon after getting back together, Dean was going to kick his ass.

"Well, Dad…" he said with as much cheerfulness as he could, spreading his arms and then clapping his hands together in anticipation. "I'm glad you're here. This case is a weird one." Of course, they always were.

John's mouth twitched, but he followed the change in topic. "An arrow through the heart, by itself, could just be a human killer," he pointed out. "But the symptoms beforehand would make no sense. Did either of you get to talk to any of the victims before they died?"

"Nope," replied Dean as he reached for some more ketchup to slather on his French fries. "Talked to some witnesses, though, they all say the same thing. Vics just started talking nonsense, no one could understand what they were trying to say. Three days later…" He sliced a hand across his throat, making a choking sound. John nodded.

"Dad, you know of anything that could do something like this?" Sam asked, still just pushing his lettuce around instead of eating it.

"Nothing I've ever seen before," their dad replied. "Taking their ability to speak could be some sort of curse, but I never heard of witches being all that interested in archery."

Sam glared at the crowded diner, pensive and confused. "Right. At first we thought maybe demons, but the ones we've found don't seem to care anything about it. Honestly, they haven't given us any trouble since….."

He trailed off, and Dean's head whipped up in alarm, studying his younger brother. Mentioning Lucifer didn't seem like a good idea. Not because John didn't need to know about the tiny matter of the Apocalypse, but because Dean didn't want Sam thinking about the Cage.

What if he started to remember? Cas had sworn Sammy's memories were gone, but Dean couldn't take any chances.

The memory would haunt the older hunter for the rest of his life… pacing Bobby's house for hour upon hour after Cas had left to try getting Sam out, left behind to wait with _no_ way of helping the angel rescue his brother, and then the sight of them when they'd appeared in a sudden heap of blood and ash in the middle of the living room floor…

He'd never forget Sam's eyes, or the way he screamed. He'd never forget the animalistic sounds his brother had made, curled on the floor as he writhed in obvious agony though no wounds could be seen. He'd never forget how Cas – looking barely alive himself – had crawled over to a thrashing Sam, one hand falling onto his forehead, how he'd taken Sam's memories of the Cage, how the angel had been unconscious for a week afterwards and woke up to reveal that almost _all_ of the grace that had been restored upon his resurrection was gone for good.

With Sam's memories erased and Cas refusing to talk about it, Dean would probably never know what had happened down there. Maybe that wasn't such a bad thing.

"Anyway," he quickly spoke up, though his eyes were still on Sam to make sure he was okay. "Then we thought maybe some kind of pagan god. It has kind of a Trickster feel to it." Though it obviously wasn't _their_ Trickster, but probably there were more than one.

John leaned back in the booth again, shaking his head with a snort. "Gods… halos…" he muttered darkly. "Things were simpler when vengeful spirits and vampires were the worst monsters out there."

Sam's eyes narrowed, and Dean jumped in again, laughing shortly. "Weren't those the days?" he agreed with as much enthusiasm as he could.

John didn't give any indication that he'd noticed Sam's irritation, to Dean's relief; instead, he leaned forward more intently, fixing his gaze on the two, and said gruffly, "Speaking of which. Now I've caught you up as much as possible, what about you? What exactly have I missed?"

Dean swallowed, shooting a quick look at Sam. His younger brother was staring at his salad, definitely avoiding eye contact with their dad, and this had just gotten a whole lot trickier. Not only could Dean not mention the Cage, he was also _not_ going to tell John about his own time in Hell, and whatever he did, he could not – _would_ not – reveal Sam's little problem with the demon blood, or how far he had strayed.

Sure, this was their father, but… well, he was also the one who'd told Dean to save Sam… or else.

It appeared that Sam was in no rush to jump in and help, so Dean sighed. "Well… it turned out Yellow Eyes had a bigger plan in mind."

Carefully skirting around a vast number of details with the skill of an old country lawyer, Dean explained how Yellow Eyes and a group of demons had started breaking seals (neglecting to mention who exactly had broken the first one or how), how the angels had recruited them to help stop it (omitting the part where most of the angels were righteous dicks who'd actually been allowing the Apocalypse to begin), and how they had actually met Lucifer face to face (foregoing the bit about Sam breaking the final seal when he'd been hyped up on demon blood).

"Man, I don't think we would've won without Cas," he was sure to mention as casually as possible. "He really came through for us, way above and beyond the call."

John snorted, clearly unconvinced, and Dean saw Sam's hand clench on the bench beside him. Sure, Dean wished his dad would lighten up, but after all, _he_ hadn't liked Cas in the beginning either, nor had the angel seemed extraordinarily fond of Sam at least. It would just take some time.

If only he could tell his dad what Cas had done for Sam… what he'd sacrificed… but as far as Sam knew, Cas had never gotten his grace back to begin with. The angel had requested that they keep it that way, not wanting Sam to feel responsible in any way. With this in mind, Dean merely concluded that Lucifer had ended up pushed back into the Cage, though they had lost Ellen and Jo along the way.

John was silent for a long while, looking between the two boys. Dean risked another glance at Sam, only to see his brother shooting him a grateful look. Dean gave him a confident grin and a nod, as though he wasn't waiting on tether-hooks for their dad's response. After all, John Winchester was no fool. He certainly realized he hadn't been given the whole story, the question was how much he would push it, how much he would piece together on his own.

"Okay," John finally said, leaning back at last. His hooded eyes narrowed, mouth drawing down a bit. "I _can_ see why using a halo would be useful to put Lucifer back in his Cage-"

"Cas," Sam interrupted, still white knuckled and only getting more rigid. John shot him a look as Dean braced himself.

 _Come on, Sammy,_ he silently pleaded. _Don't start with him now. You know how he is._ Was just one meal in peace really too much to ask? Could his dad and his brother not take _five minutes_ to appreciate the fact that they were all alive together again, against all odds?! Couldn't they just enjoy being a family before the fighting started?

"What?" John asked, eyes piercing Sam. His voice was calm, but that tended to mean the ice was getting thinner rather than safer.

"The 'halo'," Sam clarified, pointed and short as he returned John's look with a cool gaze, already starting to get his bitch-face on. "His name is Castiel. And, you know, he _did_ help us save the world."

"That he did!" exclaimed Dean, his smile too wide and the hand he clapped to Sam's arm too forceful. "So-"

"That's great," John returned, as he and Sam proceeded with a stare-down that made Dean want to scream. "It gets a gold star, then. Doesn't explain why it hasn't left you alone now that you don't need it anymore."

Dean's gut tightened as much as Sam's face, and the older Winchester had to remind himself again that John just needed time to understand, that he hadn't _seen_ Cas's fierce loyalty in action. Dean understood Sam's anger; hell, he felt it, too, but this was John Winchester. It wasn't like talking back was going to do a damn bit of good. Dean straightened in his seat, hoping Sam would keep his mouth shut and let him take care of this.

"Dad," he started slowly, reining in his temper with his father only by sheer force of habit. "Look… I get that this must seem strange-"

"Strange?" John repeated, voice starting to rise. "I don't think 'strange' really says it, Dean! You're hanging around with a monster, I'd call that _appalling_! I trained you boys better than that, what are you _thinking_?!"

"Dad, give him a chance. If you knew him-"

"I don't have to _know_ it, Dean, and I got news for you, I don't like it knowing _you_! The halos had no business involving you at all, and you can be damn sure I would have kicked both of your asses for getting caught up in this."

"Dad-"

"No, this conversation is done, you understand me?!"

Dean's mouth twisted slightly, wanting to scream in frustration. Technically, he thought bitterly, they'd _always_ been involved, from the beginning of time. But he hadn't told his dad about being vessels, and there was no way he could… though he did suddenly wonder what John would say if Dean told him that John himself had been a vessel for Michael, even if only briefly – and that could only be done with permission.

He could say none of this, though, and merely replied with a clipped "Yes, sir."

"Good," John snapped, pushing back his plate. "I'm going to wash up. I'll be back."

Dean watched, heart heavy, as his dad disappeared. Sam twisted to face him as soon as John was out of earshot, demanding, "Yes sir? That's all you can say? We owe Cas _everything_ , Dean, but let's just let Dad talk about him like that, _great_ plan."

Shooting him a tired glare, Dean shook his head. "You know that's just how he is. Dad will come around."

"Cas saved me from Hell, Dean. He saved _you_ from Hell."

"I know that!" Why did his family have to be so damn frustrating? All Dean was asking for was for everyone to get along for a while, now that _all_ of them were back together again. Cas was part of the family, too, but John couldn't be expected to just accept that right away.

Sam was silent for a moment, glaring at his salad plate, before he finally growled, "I won't let Dad send Cas away."

Dean blinked in shock, staring at his brother. "Send Cas- Sammy, for crying out loud! No one's sending Cas away. I _told_ you, Dad will come around! Can you at least _try_ to get along with him? You got _any_ idea how damn tired I am of being in the middle of you two at every turn!?" Dean swore, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head.

Beside him, Sam sighed. "I know. I'm sorry, I really am, but it's _Cas_."

"And like I said, no one's sending him away, not as long as I'm around. It'll be _fine_ , Sam."

His brother still didn't look happy, nor did he seem particularly confident, but there was no more time for discussion, as Dean spotted John coming back towards him. He instantly straightened slightly, grabbing the beer sitting in front of him and finishing it with one long gulp. He was going to be needing _lots_ of alcohol, it seemed.

"Okay," John began as he approached, sounding calm and collected once again, holding up his phone. "Just got a call from the hospital, they think I'm CDC. They said they got another vic in acting strangely. We can go talk to him tomorrow, see what we can find out. For tonight, it's getting late. Let's head back so we can get an early start in the morning."

"Great," Dean immediately agreed, jumping to his feet, grateful that his dad had dropped the matter on Cas. Sam didn't say anything, but silently stood as well, leading the way out the door with a troubled expression still on his face.

Dean sighed. It was going to be a long ride back to the motel.

SPN SPN SPN

Castiel couldn't help but notice that neither Dean nor Sam seemed to be their usual robust selves after their reunion dinner, as they drove along the darkened road from the plant. The angel hated to admit it, but he was glad John was in a separate car, and would join up with them after a quick detour to the local precinct.

Neither of his friends were talking much, and Castiel sat quietly in the backseat. The silence didn't bother him, it was just rather unusual. He wished he had some good news to share, but there had been no clues left behind at the power plant, nothing to suggest who might be behind this, or what the last victim had been doing there at all.

Both Dean and Sam were exhausted, each collapsing down on one of the motel beds as soon as they reached the room. They were asleep in minutes without much conversation, and Castiel envied them. He still wasn't used to needing sleep, though usually it was only for a few hours at a time, every few nights. He'd have to rest for a while once John got back. For now, he simply sat in the chair close to the window, a sentry keeping the first watch.

After the events of the day, Castiel couldn't help but brood, his thoughts returning once again to his lack of power. He would never regret rescuing Sam, but he couldn't pretend he'd escaped unscathed. Losing his grace would have been hard enough, he'd accepted that inevitability going in, but he'd hoped he could sneak in and out before Lucifer even realized he was there.

His luck had not been so good as that.

Sam had taken the worst of it, of course, the mere day that he'd been gone on the surface translating into far too much time with Lucifer in the Cage. Castiel knew the young man had been tortured non-stop by the outraged Lucifer, his soul entirely broken into a mostly catatonic vat of emptiness. Sam had begged Castiel to take his memories away, to make him forget, clinging to the angel on the flight out of Hell.

Castiel, of course, had obliged, though it had taken more power than he could reasonably offer and he'd ended up unconscious for a week. Sam now had no recollection of his ordeal, though, and time with his brother had healed his soul better than could have been expected.

But there was no one to take Castiel's memories away.

A car pulled into the parking lot, and Castiel got to his feet. John had returned. The angel watched as the hunter approached, stepping back as the door opened. John's eyes brushed across him briefly, then he turned his shoulder to the angel. At least he hadn't gone for the machete.

"John," Castiel greeted him anyway, hoping politeness on his part would help the human relax. It didn't seem to work, as John ignored him entirely. Instead, the hunter stepped between the beds, looking down at his sons with a much softer expression than Castiel had seen earlier.

Neither of them spoke again, and John didn't move for a long moment. When he did, it was only to sigh and settle himself down in the chair that the angel had vacated, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. Only now did Castiel realize the flaw with their current situation, as he looked around the room. The beds were both occupied and there was only the one chair.

"Where…" he asked uncertainly, "where should I sleep?"

John didn't open his eyes or move. "Not with _us_ ," he retorted. The sharpness in his voice cut the air with its disdain, making Castiel take a pained step back. "Go find somewhere else to _perch."_

How could mere words have the power to make him feel so _heavy_? Castiel swallowed, regarding John for a moment, but the hunter said nothing else. Somewhere else to perch? Was he expecting Castiel to actually get his own room? It wasn't as though it mattered to him _where_ he slept; it was the intent and the meaning behind John's words. He knew he shouldn't care, that John kicking him out shouldn't matter to him.

But it did.

Still uncertain, Castiel looked almost instinctively towards Dean. His friend was deeply asleep by now, though, boots still on and one arm draped off the bed towards Sam, the way he always slept.

Tonight, though, there was the slightest sense of peace on the sleeping human's face, a trace of content that wasn't usually present. Of course – he had his father back. Castiel wasn't going to cause trouble with John Winchester, he liked Dean having this rare peace.

So, though at one time he could have taught John a stern lesson for his disrespect, Castiel simply slipped out the door. The office at the front, that was where they got rooms from, right? And the angel thought he remembered that the man at the desk would want money, but the plastic card that Dean had given him would apparently work as well. At least, he was fairly certain that these were the correct steps to obtaining a motel room.

Castiel's heart ached, though. Lucifer's taunts continued to echo through his soul, his jab that there was no point in trying to escape the Cage; after all, there would never be a place for Castiel now, not in Heaven or on Earth. He wanted to shut out those words, but it was hard to do as he walked alone, away from his friends, away from the room that he was not welcome in. It shouldn't have _mattered_ , he forcefully reminded himself once again. What did he care if John Winchester didn't want him around?

It wasn't like he didn't have a place here. Just… his place would be by himself, in another room. That was all.

SPN SPN SPN

 _"Your sons are in danger."_

John couldn't see who was speaking, couldn't identify the voice. He looked around shrewdly, recognizing the home he'd shared with Mary, so long ago. But Mary was gone, and young Dean wouldn't be running to greet him at the door, and baby Sammy had left his nursery long ago. This was only a dream.

He didn't respond out loud, but his question seemed to permeate the air.

 _"The angel will bring them to their destruction,"_ the voice whispered in answer, a cold voice that made John's hair stand on end. _"He'll turn them against you. He will corrupt their souls. You must stop him. Take him down. Bring him to me."_

"Who are you?" John demanded, suspicious eyes scouring the corners of the living room he could never return to. There was nothing there.

 _"The one who sent you. You won't remember this in the morning, but it is of the UTMOST importance that you separate them from him. Bring me Castiel."_ There was a rumble of thunder, an electricity in the air, the feeling of wrath and righteousness. _"Do not fail, John Winchester. BRING ME CASTIEL."_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thanks again, reviewers! ^_^ The positive response is so encouraging, thank you! =)_

* * *

 **Chapter 3 - In Which They Realize Their Enemy is a Nimrod**

Sam was half expecting that when he woke up, his father would be gone, and it would all have been his imagination, some kind of dream. Not that it was even all that shocking to see a dead man alive again; that was becoming downright commonplace in the Winchester family. To his relief, John was still with them when he turned his head to look, either awake already or awake still.

Tilting his head a bit more, Sam looked for Dean, smiling a bit to see his still snoozing brother. Then, the younger Winchester frowned and looked around the room for the final member of their strange little group.

"Cas?" he muttered sleepily, forcing himself to sit up. Sam groaned, a hand rubbing his forehead. His dreams had been dark and filled with Hellfire again, which didn't exactly make for a restful sleep. The hunter sighed, and blearily looked around again. No angel.

John had looked up, though, meeting his eyes and then smiling a bit. "Morning," his father greeted him quietly, all arguments of the day before apparently forgotten. Sam was just fine with that, having no desire to fight.

With a nod in reply, Sam sat up slowly, swinging his long legs to the floor. "Where's Cas?" he asked softly, keeping his voice low so as not to disturb his brother. John merely jerked a thumb over his shoulder to indicate the door behind him, and Sam nodded again. "Gonna go get some coffee, want some?"

He didn't actually wait for John's reply, standing and heading right out the door. Idaho was chilly in the mornings at this time of year, and Sam puffed out a small cloud of condensation as he let the cool air outside start to wake him up. For a moment, he just stood there, letting his brain come back to life, the last remnants of his uncomfortable dreams evaporating away under the influence of the early morning sun.

"Good morning, Sam. Did you sleep well?"

"Oh… I didn't see you there." Sam turned towards Cas, sitting on the bench outside their door, giving him a quick smile. "Yeah, slept fine." He paused, then asked uncertainly, "You weren't out here all night, were you?"

Castiel seemed to hesitate, which was enough to make Sam suspicious, but all the angel said was, "No, not all night. But I wanted to watch the sunrise. It's quite beautiful from down here, you know. From above, it doesn't look like anything at all, just the planet turning on its axel."

Sam had to smile at that, stepping over to sit down next to his friend. "Well, that'd be a pretty amazing view, too," he pointed out, then sighed. "Hey, Cas… you know not to take my dad personally, right?"

"Of course," Cas responded, hands folding in his lap, but his answer had come too quickly.

"No, seriously… Dad is just…" Sam sighed, half glancing over his shoulder to make sure the door was still closed and John wouldn't hear him. "He's always been like this. Actually, it… it kind of rubbed off on Dean for a long time."

Memories flitted through Sam's mind, memories of a time not all that long ago. Hunting vampires, their insistence that they didn't kill any humans, and what had Dean said about it when Sam had tried to convince him that these vampires didn't deserve death?

 _"If it's supernatural, we kill it, end of story. That's our job!"_

And damn, if Dean hadn't actually _believed_ that crap, even though Sam knew it was John's influence. But while Lenore had managed to convince Dean that it wasn't actually that black and white, John's mind, once made, would never change.

Not even Sam was safe from his family's prejudices, really. How could he ever forget how Dean had reacted when Sam's own supernatural abilities had surfaced? How he'd actually called Sam a freak, said that he'd want to hunt him if he didn't know him? All of that was behind them now, of course, and thankfully Dean seemed to have eased up ever since then. John, though…

"Anything that's not human just gets…" Sam went on now, "Well, gets seen a certain way. As far as my dad's concerned, there's people, and there's monsters. He doesn't allow for anything in between."

"There's no need to explain," Cas assured him, though Sam wasn't all that convinced. "I'm… different. Your father would not be the only one to fear those who are different."

"I guess. But, Cas, I mean it: I owe you everything. We both do. I know you saved me from Lucifer, not sure _how_ -"

"Sam…"

The hunter waved him off reassuringly, hearing the note of warning and worry. "And I don't want to know," he finished. "It must have been pretty bad if I asked you to take my memories. I'm not asking for details, just saying that you've _more_ than earned our loyalty and respect. So just… don't let him get to you, okay? I know how it can be."

Cas gave him a quick smile, a silent nod, and Sam supposed that would have to do for now. He knew his brother, and he knew Dean was counting on their father coming to accept Cas, that they would all be one big, happy family.

Sam couldn't bring himself to burst Dean's enthusiasm, especially since he himself wanted that as well… but wanting it and expecting it were two very different things.

SPN SPN SPN

Interviewing the victim later that day was getting them absolutely nowhere.

Witnesses had told them in all five cases that the victims hadn't been making any sense, but the Winchesters hadn't been sure what that actually _meant_. After all, a vic who could perfectly describe whatever had attacked them would have been considered as "not making sense" to an outsider.

This, however, just took the cake. All four of them stood around the hospital bed with bemused expressions, staring at the man who was glowering in such clear frustration that it was making Sam's head hurt.

"I've got nothing," Dean grumbled, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his "CDC" suit and looking to the others with an air of frustration. "You guys?"

Sam shook his head, half glancing at a pensive Castiel, and then towards John. "Anything?"

Ignoring them, John leaned over the patient in his hospital bed, looking grim. "Think," he insisted. "Slow down, just-"

"The moon is melting and I've run out of coffee!"

With a sigh, Sam pinched the bridge of his nose. Their vic had been spouting off this sort of nonsense since they'd gotten there, full and articulate sentences, but nothing that had anything to do with the questions they were asking him, nothing that fit any rational thought pattern. He sounded insane, plain and simple.

"I've _run out of coffee_!" The man angrily swiped his hand at the little shelf attached to his hospital bed, knocking its contents to the floor.

"Out of marbles, too," muttered Dean, earning a glare from both Sam and their vic.

"Hey, hey…Just calm down, it'll be okay," Sam soothed him, trying to sound as reassuring as possible. "It's Jeffery, right? Jeffery, let me get you some paper, maybe you could-"

He was cut off by a wordless growl of frustration, pausing as Jeffery jabbed a finger towards the items he'd just knocked over. The others leaned in closer to look, John crouching to snag a small, spiral bound memo book off the floor. They watched him scan it for a second, before he sighed and held the book out to Sam.

"It was a good thought," he said. "But it looks like they've already tried that."

Sam looked at the book, then echoed his father's sigh. Apparently it wasn't just speech that was getting all twisted up. Similar nonsense was scrawled across the page in increasingly furious writing, Jeffery bearing down so hard by the end that he'd torn right through the paper.

"And the doctors think it's… some kind of virus?" the youngest hunter asked, incredulous and yet understanding that of course the civilians would be even more out of their league than the Winchesters were.

John nodded, looking equally doubtful. "A virus affecting the communication center of the brain."

"But a virus could not cause every human infected to be shot through the heart three days later," Cas pointed out unhelpfully before Sam could stop him.

Sam winced. Shit.

" _Cas_!" Dean snapped loudly as Jeffery sat bolt upright in the bed, and there was no need to speak to communicate his obvious terror and panic.

"I'm not a Sagittarius… _I'm not a Sagittarius!_ " Immediately, their vic tried to throw back the covers and jump to his feet, causing Sam and Dean to have to lunge forward and catch him, urging him back down to the bed.

"Sir…" Sam urged gently. "Sir, you're going to be just fine, okay? We're going to take care of everything."

"Great, Cas!" Dean grumbled as Sam tried to soothe Jeffery. "This is why we don't bring you to interviews!"

"I- I'm sorry, should I not mention-"

"One of you two better shut this idiot thing up before it screws something else up," John warned them; Sam turned around in time to see Cas looking guiltily away from John's scathing, disgusted glare. The young hunter frowned as he watched his dad shoulder his way past their friend, pushing him into the background.

He was just opening his mouth to say something when, to his relief, Dean finally spoke up.

"He's sorry, he's still getting the hang of this. He hasn't been… um... in the field long. Cas, just be quiet, okay? Let us handle the talking."

"I... I'm sorry, Dean..."

"Rain, rain, go away," Jeffery suddenly murmured, voice cracking. They turned to him; Sam felt a twinge of pity, watching as Jeffery leaned back on the bed with eyes squeezed tightly closed, the veritable picture of despair. Finding out he was probably going to die was horrible, but Sam could only imagine what it would be like to suddenly lose all capability of communicating with the people around him on top of that.

Turning to Cas, Sam couldn't help but ask, "Is there anything…?"

The angel tilted his sorrowful expression towards Sam, silently shaking his head. Sam hadn't really been expecting otherwise. If Cas couldn't heal their fairly easy physical wounds after a hunting mishap, it was unrealistic to think he could heal a curse that they couldn't pin down.

Beside him, John snorted but didn't say anything. Sam heard the unspoken words though, and, from the way Cas ducked his head as though ashamed, the angel heard it, too. Sam's jaw tightened, angling a glare at his father. It wasn't like _they_ had any way of helping right now, either.

On his other side, Dean seemed to have missed the entire exchange, too busy honing his own skills of _complete_ insensitivity, as he grumbled, "Man, this is a waste of time. How's he supposed to tell us anything?"

"Dean," John growled in warning, which Sam thought was entirely hypocritical.

"He's just babbling, we're not going to learn anything here."

Sam was about to launch into a reprimand of his own towards his brother, but paused when he saw Cas suddenly straighten back up with a surprised jerk. The younger hunter raised a brow, waiting expectantly. "Cas?"

"Babbling," Cas repeated softly, looking from Jeffery to Dean, then back to Jeffery. His expression tightened, frowning with what seemed to be intense thought. He didn't elaborate, and John turned to Sam and Dean impatiently.

"Has it got something it wants to share, or are we supposed to guess?"

"Maybe you should give him a minute," Sam suggested tightly, ignoring the elbow that his brother dug into his ribs, as well as John's answering scowl. Turning to his friend instead, he prompted, "Cas? What, you got an idea?"

Looking at John uncertainly, the angel turned back to the brothers and took a breath. "Actually… I think I do."

SPN SPN SPN

"The Tower… of… Babel?" John repeated incredulously, before shaking his head. "Is that supposed to be a joke?"

"He sounds pretty serious, Dad," Dean pointed out, as they waited for Sam to boot up his laptop now that they'd returned to the motel. He had to admit, it sounded like a stretch, but Cas was the only one who'd know anything about the Tower, and it wasn't like they had any other leads.

Beside him, Cas nodded grimly. "I'm very serious. Dean's comment about Jeffrey babbling was exactly correct. I hadn't thought of it before because there was simply no reason to think this could be happening again."

"The actual Tower of Babel?" John continued. "Like in the Bible?"

Dean raised an eyebrow when he realized that the question was addressed to _him_. Hell, how was he supposed to know what Cas was talking about? Dean wasn't exactly hip to all the various Bible stories; the extent of his Sunday Schooling had been what little amount Pastor Jim had been able to instill in him when he was watching over the young Winchesters as children.

"Uh, I guess," he answered with a shrug. "Cas?"

"Yes. The same."

"Okay, but wait… I thought legend says that's where different languages emerged," Sam pointed out from his seat at the computer, tapping the table with quick, sharp beats. "Jeffery was speaking English, he just… wasn't making sense."

"Actually, it merely says that the language became confounded. There was a curse put on the leader, for his arrogance, which caused the people to not understand each other. It wasn't necessarily new languages, so much as the language they were speaking didn't make sense – as we're seeing now. It became chaos and the tower fell." Cas paused, then added with a shrug, "Not that it was ever going to succeed. Dried dung can only be stacked so high."

Dean wrinkled his nose. Ew. That was friggin' disgusting. "Okay, but I don't get it," he grumbled, collapsing into the armchair by the wall and looking to Cas. "That was, what….like…." He started counting on his fingers, then gave up. "A really long time ago. What's that got to do with our vics?"

"Nothing," John retorted with a scowl, leveling a glare at the angel. "Because we don't care about a damn history lesson about some ancient curse, we care about what's doing this _now_. So if the halo has nothing more useful to contribute-"

"Whoa, Dad," Dean interrupted, spreading his hands and offering a short, nervous laugh. "I mean… man, let him at least tell us where he's going with this, huh? If Cas was there, maybe he knows exactly what happened that time and… you know, what to do about it." Seriously, why couldn't his dad just chill? Why did he have to keep getting on Cas's case?

Okay, so the thing at the hospital had been ridiculous, but Cas had always been hopeless at the parts involving human interaction.

John only gave him a look, and Dean raised innocent eyebrows but quickly cleared his throat and straightened up. From the computer, Sam glanced between both of them, while Cas just stood by the bed looking awkward and out of place. Dean was going to have to give him some pointers on how to act a little more human, he thought vaguely. Maybe that would help smooth things over so they could all work together and get along.

After a moment, John turned away from Dean towards Cas. "Okay, so, does it know something or not?"

Cas shot an uncertain glance at Dean, who gave him a thumb's up of encouragement. Taking a breath, the angel said, "The curse was given to the leader, the one who came up with the idea as an act of retribution for the flood."

"Oh, I know that one!" Dean chimed in, pointing at Cas. "Noah, right? The ark? Two by two, the whole deal, wiped out all the evil folks on the Earth?" He clicked his tongue, shaking his head in regret. "Somehow the unicorns got missed, but he got the damn spiders, explain that to me."

While Sam rolled his eyes and Dean grinned, pleased with himself, Cas shook his head. "No. Well, yes, I suppose. But the evil on Earth wasn't the humans. It was the Nephilim. They were out of control by that point, the flood was to wipe _them_ out. The leader who decided to build the tower had some Nephilim blood in him, hence his defiance and his desire to outsmart God."

"And you think that's our perp? The leader?" Sam clarified. Castiel nodded, and John shook his head.

"You'd think if he was such a threat, he would have been taken out a long time ago. What good _are_ you halos?"

"Dad," Sam started, but John raised a hand.

"If this thing is the one causing the problems, then we'll just do what should have been done at the time, and kill it."

From his spot by the beds, Cas suddenly frowned, crossing over to the window and staring out into the parking lot. Dean raised an eyebrow, trading a look with Sam. "Uh… Cas, something to share?"

There was a second of silence, and then Cas sighed in clear frustration. "That's just it. It doesn't make sense. He _was_ taken care of, not long after the Tower fell." He paused, then added softly, "Three days later, in fact, when the curse was in full swing. Nimrod is dead."

"Wait…." Dean burst into laughter, leaning forward in his chair and staring at Cas, who looked puzzled. "You're… you made a joke!"

Cas frowned. "No… and I don't see the humor."

" _Nimrod_? I get it, maybe the guy wasn't too bright with the whole… dung thing…" Again, Dean wrinkled his nose, but then continued laughing. "But, come on, _nimrod_? Shame on you, Cas, that's not a very nice thing to call someone."

"No, that was his name, Dean," Sam explained, typing furiously away on his computer now, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Nimrod was Noah's great-grandson. Cas, are you sure he was part Nephilim? Wouldn't that mean _Noah_ was part Nephilim? I've never heard anything like that."

"Neither have I," John pointed out as he crossed his arms. "And Dean, there's nothing funny about this."

Immediately, Dean put on his serious face, nodding, but the corner of his mouth continued to twitch.

Nimrod. No wonder he'd gone off on a rebellious dung-heaping rant. How the hell did Sammy know about that, anyway?

On second thought, Sam was always pulling weird, dorky facts like that out of thin air, why was Dean even surprised?

Cas ignored Dean's not entirely concealed amusement, folding his arms and continuing to stare out the window with the same troubled frown. "I'm certain," he assured them. "Noah's ancestry was pure, but his son, Ham-"

Again, Dean couldn't help but choke back a laugh, trying to pass it off as a coughing fit. Ham? Nimrod? What the hell was up with these names?

"Dean." It was always amazing how John managed to convey exactly how _not_ in the mood he was with just one word, and Dean again nodded, clearing his throat.

"Yes, sir."

"Anyway," Cas went on, casting a sidelong, perplexed look at Dean, "Ham's wife is the one who carried the gene. It passed to Nimrod, and then he was further cursed – all those he touched would have their language confused, and nothing could be accomplished."

"Okay, but what about the arrows?" Sam pointed out, his typing suddenly falling still as he cocked his head. "Huh… there _is_ a theory about Nimrod being part Nephilim."

"In addition to being a renowned hunter and archer," the angel said. "The people in this town have been killed by arrows, all perfectly through the heart, which is why I now suspect it is Nimrod himself, and not another man affected by the same curse."

Dean smirked, tipping his friend a wink. "Well, he should have changed up his MO so we wouldn't suspect him… he would've thought of that if he wasn't such a _nimrod_!" He grinned broadly at his own joke, though his dad and brother only rolled their eyes.

Cas was obviously lost, though, shaking his head once again as he murmured, "Dean… I don't understand why this is funny."

"Ignore him, he's an idiot," Sam suggested, still reading the screen, probably still gleaning all sorts of juicy tidbits about Nimrod. Dean didn't bother retorting, just happy that they were getting somewhere, and that it had been Cas to put this all together. Now his dad would _have_ to acknowledge the angel's contribution, and maybe they could all work together peacefully.

Crossing his arms now, John nodded grimly to the two boys. "Right," he said with an air of decision. "According to the reports, Jeffery started showing signs around 8pm, three days ago. That gives us a bit of time to come up with a plan. I'm going to go get some food for you two boys, and we'll plan our next move."

Swiftly, he disappeared out the door, and Dean settled back in his chair, relaxing a little at last. "Nimrod," he snickered one last time, earning a huff of impatience from Sam, but his brother was still too busy at the computer to get into an argument, and Cas was still standing at the window, tense and unnaturally straight.

"Cas, come on, kick back a bit, man," Dean suggested, propping his feet up and clasping his hands behind his head. "We'll take care of this Nimrod. And hey, you should eat something when Dad gets back, too."

Castiel turned towards him, something inscrutable in his features, as he replied shortly, "I don't really need to eat, Dean."

"Yeah, I know," the hunter waved him off impatiently. "Whatever, seriously, eat something. You could at least _try_ to act more like a human, maybe it'll make Dad more comfortable-"

"I'm _not_ a human, Dean."

Dean blinked, the clacking on the keyboard in the corner falling silent again as Sam apparently decided to stop to listen. The older hunter sat up a bit, shooting Cas a puzzled look. "Dude, chill. I know that, what the hell? I'm just saying you could _act_ like it. Stop being so… angel-y. Just eat something, you've eaten with Sammy and me plenty of times before."

"I'm not hungry."

Now Dean was staring, irritation starting to poke at him. Between his dad and Cas, seriously… "What the hell is your problem?!"

Cas sighed, still unreadable, though something like sadness seemed to flit across his face. "I'm sorry," he murmured, turning away. "I… I'm going to try and find some holy oil. If Nimrod is behind this, there might be enough Nephilim blood in him that holy oil should contain him."

"And where are you going to find any around here?" Dean pointed out shortly, still irate and not sure why Cas was giving him a hard time about such an innocent suggestion. "Unless you're going to fly-" Just in time, he stopped himself from asking if Cas was going to fly off to Rome to find some, but the damage was done. Cas had obviously heard exactly where he'd been going with that. Dean hadn't even meant anything by it, but he _saw_ the pain in his friend's eyes this time, and he swore internally. What the hell was wrong with him, saying something like that when Cas _couldn't_ fly, because his wings had been burned away by the _hellfire_ he'd rescued Sammy from?

"I'll be back," Cas snapped, layering another pile of guilt on Dean's heavy heart.

He watched as the angel shoved his way out the door, before jumping to his feet and slamming a palm against the wall. "DAMN it!" How could he have been so stupid?! Why would he have even said anything like that? The last thing Dean had wanted was to hurt Cas's feelings, not about _this_. How sick _was_ he, to rub Castiel's sacrifice in his face?!

"Great, Dean. That was just great."

"Shut up, Sam."

Dean glared out the window, watching as Cas disappeared down the road on foot, feeling a clamp start to squeeze his heart. Why hadn't he just kept his mouth shut?

"No, really. Dad would be proud."

"I said _shut up_!" Dean didn't know if it was the words themselves, or just the disdain he heard in them that made his blood boil. He whirled around, his brother's scathing eyes meeting his own. If Sam had been a little bit closer, he might have actually punched him for that. Dean wasn't his father, damn it, it'd been a _mistake_!

Cas knew that.

Right?


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: My continued gratitude to everyone who's providing feedback! :) I love hearing from y'all!_

 _To my guest reviewer, thank you! ^_^ You're right, Dean should really apologize, but being Dean it probably won't quite come out like "I'm sorry", haha._

 _Please enjoy._

* * *

 **Chapter 4 – In Which the Idjits Get in a Fight**

Castiel walked through the town, a glass vial of holy oil tucked safely into the crook of his arm. And Dean had thought he wouldn't be able to find any. Castiel supposed that stealing from the local Catholic church was probably considered a pretty bad thing to do, but if it took care of their problem, he was willing to accept that addition to the ever-growing list of bad things he'd done in his life.

The angel wasn't in much of a rush to get back to the hotel, and his feet plodded slowly along. Part of him was relatively certain that Dean hadn't meant what he'd been about to say in a cruel way. The other part of him felt like he'd been punched in the gut. Aside from just how much he missed his wings, it was getting difficult to figure out what he even _was_ anymore, where he belonged… not truly an angel, but unquestionably not a human, something John Winchester seemed intent on reminding him.

Maybe he was only fooling himself that he could stay with Dean and Sam, especially now that John was back. They hardly _needed_ him, and if truth be told, it wasn't like he could do much for his human friends anyway. All he was going to do was bring trouble and contention, and how was he supposed to live with that?

Sam seemed to disagree with his father's attitude, but Castiel was less sure about Dean. The angel's eyes crinkled with sadness as he trudged along. He knew well how deeply Dean wanted his father's approval, how very like Michael the human was in many ways. Asking him to eat-not because of how Castiel was increasingly requiring food these days, but to put on a show for John-still burned him. This wasn't the first time Dean had wanted him to act more like a human, either.

 _Stop being so angel-y_ , Dean had said.

Was Dean ashamed of him? Would Dean only be happy if Castiel put on a better façade of the human necessities, like eating and sleeping, and understanding his strange references, and improving his abilities to talk to people without saying something he wasn't supposed to? Sam had even told him that Dean himself had long believed there were only humans or monsters.

Perhaps a small part of Dean still held his father's beliefs.

Castiel's stomach gurgled unpleasantly, and the angel was tempted to give in to despair. He wasn't supposed to need to eat. He _didn't_ have to eat. Not for himself, and certainly not for John Winchester's approval. Besides, Castiel wasn't exactly broadcasting his growing hunger… it would probably be best if his friends didn't know just how handicapped he'd become. At first, it'd only been a bite or two every few weeks. Now if he didn't eat every couple of days, the angel would start feeling disconcertingly weaker – as though he needed help feeling _that_.

Frustrated to the point of an explosion, the angel took a breath, focusing his entire will on his wings. If he could just do _this_ …

There was a tug, the old familiar pull of the ether, inviting him into the adjoining plane of existence. He was _meant_ to fly. Castiel could almost feel the soaring sensations, the joyous freedom, but flight required two functioning wings. He could disappear halfway into the ether and no further. The ether rejected him before he could get inside, and the angel stumbled onto the curb with a soft cry of pain.

"Useless," Castiel muttered, eyes closing as he waited out the rippling spasms of pain from his disfigured wings. What had he been thinking? Why torture himself like this? Flight was out of the question. Maybe that was just as well, if his more "angel-y" qualities were going to be a source of conflict.

With a sigh, Castiel continued on his long, slow way back to the motel. He'd give the Winchesters a chance to enjoy a meal as a family, without his presence interfering or causing problems.

The angel just couldn't help but wonder if John was right, and perhaps when this was finished… perhaps it would be time for him to move on, to let his friends get on with their lives. He _wasn't_ really one of them, but on the other hand…

…Castiel had absolutely nowhere else to go.

SPN SPN SPN

They hadn't quite finished eating when Cas _finally_ dragged himself back in, and by the time Dean heard the angel's light footsteps outside the door, the hunter was getting cranky. For crying out loud, didn't Cas _know_ better than to run off on his own?! What if something had happened to him?! Dean didn't think he could live with the guilt of knowing his best friend had gotten hurt because he'd gone off after something stupid _he_ had said. In fact, he'd been about two minutes away from going after Cas himself.

"There you are," he grumbled through a half-chewed bite of hamburger, as the angel came in and closed the door behind him. "What the hell were you doing?"

"I told you, Dean. If Nimrod is a Nephilim, we should have some holy oil with us. They can be quite tricky to kill. And as it turns out, I found some," he added, sounding to Dean like it was an afterthought thrown in as a way of saying "so there".

Dean raised an eyebrow as Cas held up the glass cruet he'd been carrying, the angel staring at him with something akin to defiance.

"Well, goody for you."

Beside him, his father smiled slightly, but the look Sam shot his direction could have disintegrated him. Dean sighed, starting to feel a twinge of guilt, though he wouldn't admit it. Cas's hurt expression was far worse than Sam's irritated one, though, and Dean swallowed his hamburger with difficulty through a strangely tightening throat.

"Look, just… don't take off like that, okay?" he muttered thickly. "I'd rather miss out on the holy oil than have you run into trouble or something."

"I can take care of myself, Dean. I don't need you to worry over me."

God, _fine_ , if he was going to be like that when Dean was _trying_ to apologize. The hunter glared at his friend, then turned back to his dad. Let Cas be all huffy, then, as long as he was okay.

"Speaking of weapons, son," John started, nodding towards the bed where Dean's open duffel lay. "You're still taking care of your equipment, right? You want to clean your guns as often as possible."

"Yes, sir," Dean replied automatically, cramming the rest of his burger into his mouth as he leaned the chair back on two legs to snag the duffel. His mouth was full, so he settled for pulling his favorite handgun out of the bag and presenting it to his dad for inspection.

John smiled, eyes flicking up to Dean briefly before taking the weapon. "Colt M1911," he said fondly, almost reminiscently. ".45 caliber."

Quickly swallowing, Dean nodded. "The one you gave me on my 18th birthday." He gazed at the gun, feeling far away. "Engraved DW. To match your service pistol."

"Mm-hmm. You remember what I told you when you opened it?"

"You said…" Dean paused, releasing a soft, breathy laugh. "You said it meant I was a man of the Winchester family."

With a nod and another smile, John handed the pistol back. "That's right," he said. "Four years later, gave Sammy one just like it. 'Cause we're Winchesters, Dean. And this thing, this Nimrod guy… he's not gonna know who he's messing with. You, me, and Sammy, we're all we've got, but that's okay… cause we're all we need."

Dean swallowed again, refusing to get all teary. Normally he would have protested the chick flick moment, but when the hell was the last time his dad had been anything close to affectionate like that? For a second, he was almost afraid they'd been tricked, and perhaps this wasn't actually John Winchester, after all. But Cas was positive it was really him and that was good enough for Dean.

Maybe things would really be okay this time. Dean felt his heart aching, desperate to keep things just like this. Under the pretense of putting the gun back in the duffel, he was able to hide a quick sniffle that Sam probably would have gotten a kick out of.

With his back turned, he missed the way John's eyes connected with Cas's, missed the cold, pointed smirk directed at the angel, missed the way Cas flinched and looked away, taking a step back from the family with his shoulders hunched.

When Dean turned back around, all he saw was Sam giving John a withering look that irritated the hell out of Dean, but his brother didn't say anything. Dean couldn't imagine what had crawled up Sam's ass _this_ time when John was actually being _nice_ for a change. He was starting to wonder if the kid even _wanted_ to get along with their father.

SPN SPN SPN

By the time the sun was starting to set later that day, Dean was eager and raring to get Nimrod and gank the son-of-a-bitch. Between Cas's angel blade and the holy oil they'd doled out among the four of them, not to mention their own arsenal which could at least help slow the Nephilim down, they seemed well prepared. They drove to the hospital in silence, John in the shotgun seat, Cas and Sam in the back. The tension was starting to grate at Dean's nerves, and every time he checked the rearview, Sam was shooting their dad another frown.

It was getting really old, really fast.

"Alright, let's do this," Dean said loudly as they pulled into the hospital parking lot. "Dad, what's the plan?"

"We need to split up," John replied, getting out of the car and slamming the door shut. He looked around, eyes sharp, before nodding to the building next door to the hospital. "The vics have all been killed by an arrow, that means this Nimrod guy will probably set up from a distance. Jeffery's room faces that building, so there's a good chance our perp will be up there."

"Alright, so… you and me take the rooftop?" Dean asked hopefully, but John shook his head.

"You and Sammy head up there. I'll take the halo and watch the room in case Nimrod likes to kill up close and personal after all-"

"Maybe you _should_ go with Dean," Sam suggested before John had even finished, earning a cool glare from their dad. Sam only shrugged. "Cas and I can watch the room."

Dean looked between the two, then stole a glance at Cas; the angel was biting his lip, staring at anything but the Winchesters. John was _offering_ to work with him, this was a good sign! Why the hell would Sam try to interfere with that?! "No," he quickly argued, grabbing Sam's jacket and giving him a tug. "Dad's right. Come on, Sammy."

Still, Sam hesitated, wrenching his arm away from Dean. The youngest hunter frowned, but John had clearly lost patience.

"That's an _order_ , Sam," he snapped. "Get going. The halo doesn't mind."

All eyes turned Cas, who straightened up with an obviously uncomfortable look at the sudden attention.

"Oh, um… of course," the angel agreed with a nod. "You two go ahead. But be careful. Don't underestimate him."

There was a moment between Sam and Cas, some kind of communication that Dean couldn't entirely catch. It ended with Sam taking a reluctant step back, jaw clenched in a warning look at John. Dean's good mood was rapidly draining away; he was going to have some serious words with his brother.

"Come on, Sam," he snapped, storming off towards the nearby building. It took a second before he heard Sam's footsteps hurrying to catch up, but he didn't spare his brother a single look as they silently made their way around to the back towards the fire escape. Scaling it took only a moment, both boys heaving themselves up onto the roof and looking around.

Everything was quiet, the sun already below the horizon. In such a sleepy town, it wasn't like there were crowded streets down below, leaving an ominous stillness over the scene. If this Nimrod guy was coming-and Dean still couldn't quite take a monster seriously with a name like _Nimrod-_ he wasn't here yet.

Which meant there was just enough time to have that word with Sam.

Whirling around, Dean glared up at his brother. "Okay, you wanna tell me what the _hell_ is your problem?"

Sam offered him a bitch face, before shrugging. "Don't know what you're talking about. Dean, we've got a job to do."

"Yeah, and we're gonna do it, unless you want to argue about _that_ , too."

"Come again?"

Oh, so he was going to play all innocent and ignorant? Dean's eyes narrowed, giving his brother a small shove. "Get off Dad's case! You've been giving him death looks all night, did you just completely forget that the guy died to save us?! That's our _dad_ , we've got an actual second chance with him-"

"Yeah, and I notice we're still ignoring the fact that _no one_ knows who brought him back or why!"

"-and so far all _you've_ done is argue and fight him! So what the _hell_?! Do you even _care_ that he's alive?!"

With a scoff, Sam turned his back on Dean, which only served to rile the hunter even more. Grabbing Sam's arm, he pushed his brother back around. "I'm actually not kidding, I want to know what's going on!"

"No, Dean, that's the whole damn problem! You _don't_ want to know what's going on, or you'd have seen it already, but no. You're completely blind to what he's doing because you don't _want_ to see it!"

"See what?!"

Now, Sam crossed his arms, chewing his lip as he scrutinized Dean, who didn't particularly like being scrutinized. Dean's face darkened, and he took a step forward. "See... _what_?" he repeated, voice low and filled with threat.

"You really wanna know, Dean? You really wanna wake up and see what Dad's doing to Cas?"

Dean blinked, taking a step back. "What the hell are you talking about? He just offered to partner up with him, I'd say that's a pretty big step. Besides, Cas is a big boy, he can take care of himself."

Sam snorted, shaking his head and looking away. "Man, some things just never change."

"Meaning?!"

"Meaning Dad is your blind spot, Dean! Meaning you really _don't_ see what he's doing to Cas, just like you never saw what he did to us!"

There was silence on the rooftop, Dean feeling like he'd just been punched in the face. Sam was going to start _this_ again? He shook his head slowly, turning around. "You just can't give the man an ounce of credit. He did the _best he could_ with us, Sam!"

"He was never a father, he was only a drill sergeant who ignored us for weeks at a time," Sam snapped. "But this isn't even _about_ that. This is about Cas. Dean, _wake up_ , Dad is treating him like a piece of _shit_. He still thinks Cas is a monster, and he's making _damn_ sure that Cas knows it. And I swear, Dean, if he calls Cas an "it" instead of a "him" one more time-"

"Oh, for crying out loud!" Dean spun back around, glaring at Sam. "That's just how Dad _is_! I'm pretty sure Cas has been called worse, why are you getting worked up over this?! Cas understands, funny how _he_ isn't complaining!"

"No, and he never _will_. God, Dean, you haven't seen the way Dad's cutting Cas out? He's doing everything he can to isolate him and make him feel unwelcome, and even if _you_ don't see it, I'm pretty damn sure it's working. He won't even _address_ Cas, haven't you noticed that he'll only talk to us, and ignore Cas completely? That bit in the hotel about us being family? Yeah, it wasn't for your benefit, sorry! It was to tell Cas that _we_ are a family that _he_ isn't a part of! You think he went off with Cas because he wants to _work_ with him?! There's no way, Dean! God knows what he's saying to him right now, but I can _promise_ you it's nothing nice!"

Dean was so over this. John was _trying_ , but it was hard to resolve that much prejudice overnight. How were they going to get anywhere, if Sam wasn't even going to give him the benefit of the doubt? "You need to drop this, Sammy," he growled, jabbing a finger in his brother's direction. "Now. Before you push him away and we lose him all over again."

Unsurprisingly, his brother just couldn't shut up and let it go. Instead, Sam shook his head with a small snort. "Like I said… you don't want to see it. You don't want to admit that our dad is nothing but an abusive bastard who's _deliberately_ tearing him down-"

Dean's fist was flying before he even knew what he was doing. Dean's temper carried him away in a whirlwind of knuckles and fury, and when his impulsive punch slammed into Sam's jaw, knocking him back a step, Dean didn't even register it until his brother straightened back up and shot him that familiar scathing look. Dean was breathing hard, eyes narrowed in his most enraged glare, but Sam only matched his ire.

"That 'abusive bastard' is our _father_ ," Dean growled through clenched teeth. "He deserves better than that."

"Fine," Sam spat out, gingerly dabbing at his mouth to check for blood. "But that 'halo' is our best friend, and he gave up everything for us… and he deserves better, too."

Dean didn't need Sam to tell him _anything_ about what Cas had given up. Dean knew, knew better than Sam did himself, just how much their friend had sacrificed. Hell, Cas was his best friend in the world, and yeah… John's insistence on referring to him as the 'halo' grated on Dean's nerves, but it was going to work out in the end. And he was _not_ blind, and John was _not_ abusive!

Sure, he'd been hard on both of them growing up, and sure, he'd been more concerned with giving them discipline and weapons training than affection, but they'd _had_ to get tough. Sure, John hadn't been around much, but only because he was busy saving the world.

Dean's heart was aching again, and he didn't like feeling so damn… _feely_! He didn't like the confusion that Sam's words brought, he just wanted everything to go back to being black and white, where his dad was a superhero, training them to be heroes, too, and… and Dad would warm up to Cas, it would just take more time!

"And I've got news for you, Dean," Sam snapped after him as the older hunter turned his back. "You can hit me all you want, but it doesn't change a damn thing. I hope you figure that out before it's too late."

Spinning back around, green irises flashing, Dean was fully prepared to have another go, but Sam's eyes widened suddenly and he charged forward. "Dean, watch out!"

There was no time to move, no time to get ready for Sam's sudden tackle, but Dean's reflexes were razor sharp from years of hunting. By the time his brother collided with him and knocked him to the ground, he'd already connected the dots, mentally swearing at himself for getting distracted by the argument.

The arrow whistled over them where his chest had been only seconds before, and Dean rolled as he hit the rooftop, on his feet again instantly. "Hey! You!" he shouted, eyes locking on their attacker. There was nothing about him that would have suggested "evil monster", a rather average looking man in jeans and a dark jacket. A little ragged, perhaps, but the way he was nocking another arrow into the lethal looking bow he carried was definitely not a good sign…

Cursing again, Dean grabbed Sam and ducked behind an air unit just in time for the second shot to whizz over their heads.

"Nimrod?" he asked his brother in a sharp gasp. Sam nodded, eyes wide.

"Nimrod."

Well, then, only one thing to do. The brothers traded a look, silently agreeing to a hastily formed plan. Then, with a nod, Dean led the attack, both of them darting out from their shelter and charging full tilt towards the man at the edge of the roof.

The flask holding his share of the holy oil was already in Dean's hand, stretching towards the Nephilim. Nimrod had a third arrow aimed, but it wasn't at the two hunters… he was looking towards the hospital. Dean swore, the vehement expletive bursting forth as he realized with horror that they weren't going to make it. Desperately, he tugged at the flask's stopper as they ran, knowing Sam would have his lighter at the ready.

"NO!"

The enormous bowstring twanged as the arrow was released, and there was nothing Dean could do to halt it in its flight. They were too late… how could he have been so stupid?

He hadn't even gotten the flask open all the way, hadn't had a chance to make his move, when the Nephilim whirled around, hand extended. Both hunters were flung backwards, flask and lighter falling uselessly from their hands as they cried out in shock.

"Oof!" Dean hit the rooftop hard, jarring his shoulder as he rolled over onto his back with a groan. Ow… damn it… he hated it when their enemies used that stupid "Force push" move. And where had the flask gone? Dean's hand groped around blindly, eyes shooting open with alarm. "Sammy!"

"Dean! _Dean_ , look out!"

Again, it was too late. Dean stared up at the being hovering over him. Nimrod's eyes were glowing a dim sort of grey-white-definitely not a friendly look. Dean raised a hand in defense, but the archer didn't even try to pull another arrow from his quiver. Instead, Nimrod only offered him a dark smile, extending an arm once again. Something unseen slammed Dean back down onto the roof. His head hit the surface hard, and everything went black.


	5. Chapter 5

_A/N: Thank you for the reviews, y'all =) They really make my day happy!  
_

 _Okie dokie, let's see how Cas fared with John, and what happened to Dean and Sam!_

* * *

 **Chapter 5 – In Which Sam Gets Fed Up (Because Seriously)**

Castiel wasn't sure why John had suggested teaming up, but he had a strong inclination that it wasn't because he suddenly wanted to be friends. Dean clearly deemed it a good idea, but the angel could see Sam's reservations about this. He'd tried to make it clear to his young friend that it would be fine, and not to start an argument because of him. However, John was still glaring as they walked towards the hospital doors.

Feeling guilty for being the cause of trouble, knowing that if he were not there, all three Winchesters would probably be enjoying a more peaceful reunion, Castiel followed behind the hunter with his mind dangerously absent from the actual task. The ride up the elevator to the third floor was silent and awkward. Neither John nor Castiel made eye contact or tried to break the silence.

When the doors opened, the hunter again led the way, but not right to Jeffery's room. Instead, he went straight to the end of the hall and around the corner, opening the door into a stairwell that didn't look like it saw much foot traffic.

"Here looks good," John said, coming to a halt. Castiel looked around, perplexed.

"Why are we here?"

"We need to talk," the hunter replied. "Why don't we sit."

This was a change of tone. Thrown off and not sure what to expect, Castiel nodded hopefully and lowered himself down onto the top stair. Instead of sitting next to him, though, John moved down two steps and turned towards him. One foot propped itself on the top step next to the angel, letting John lean forward over him, once again hard and unfriendly. Castiel had to tip his head back a bit to keep eye contact, and he realized that he didn't care for this positioning at all.

"What-"

"No, I'm asking the questions, so shut your mouth."

Castiel swallowed, his heart sinking. John's voice never rose, cold and quiet and altogether not unlike Lucifer had been in that respect. "John, we have to catch Nimrod-"

"My boys have it covered. We'll go see Jeffery in a minute, but not before you start giving me some answers."

John leaned closer, one hand falling heavily onto the angel's shoulder. Castiel glanced down at the hand; it didn't feel like a friendly gesture like when Dean or Sam did the same thing. He just felt hemmed in, and Castiel was acutely aware that he was no longer the more powerful being, between the two. Not unless he drew his angel blade - in which case John wouldn't stand a chance - but he couldn't attack Dean and Sam's father. For their sake, he had to play nice.

"So," John went on, as cool as ever. "What the hell did you do to my sons?"

"What are you talking about?"

The hand on his shoulder squeezed hard, digging into Castiel's shoulder, and John's face darkened. "I'm talking about why they would let something like you stick around. What kind of game are you playing? What hold do you have over them?"

Castiel tried not to squirm, now uncomfortably reminded of Raphael. He looked away, sighing. "Nothing," he replied. "Dean and Sam are my friends-"

"No," John snapped. "They're my sons, and I don't want you anywhere near them. You don't belong here, you got that? How did you trick them into this? What did you do? Is it some kind of spell?"

"What? No!"

"Some halo mind game?"

"No, of course not!" Castiel protested again, wincing slightly as John's grip tightened.

"Bullshit. I don't know what you're doing, halo, but I know what you are. They're my family, and there's nothing I wouldn't do to protect them. So don't think for a second that you've got me fooled like them. You're a monster and _nothing_ more."

"I'm not a monster," Castiel murmured, echoing his words to Lucifer in the Cage. _Oh, but you are,_ his brother had replied. _Let me show you the same pain you've caused._ Followed by so much unbearable torment… The angel inhaled sharply, pushing the memories back, but reality was no better than memory, holding nothing but John's cold expression looming over him.

"That's exactly what you are, and I'll figure out your game eventually. Now go do something useful, go flutter off into Jeffery's room and see if it's clear."

Still thinking about the Cage, it took Castiel a second to look up at John and then quickly look away with a shamed heat in his cheeks. "I… I can't," he admitted hesitantly. "I can't fly anymore."

John let out an impatient snort of laughter, shaking his head in disbelief. "A halo that can't fly. So you can't fix Jeffery, you can't fly… I'm guessing other than your little knife and your fancy light show, you don't actually have a single damn thing going for you, do you?"

With another unkind laugh, John gave Castiel a hard pat on the shoulder, finally letting go and straightening back up as he muttered, "Useless."

The angel didn't say anything, overcome by how deeply those words pierced his heart, when they shouldn't have meant anything to him at all. How proud he'd been, as an angel of the Lord… how he would have ripped John Winchester apart for taking such a tone with him, back when he'd first pulled Dean out of Hell.

Now? All he could think was how true the cruel words actually were.

Castiel didn't look at John, who finished with the harsh demand, "So what _are_ you good for?"

Actually, he was starting to wonder the same thing himself.

The sound of shattering glass and the scream of a nurse cut off any further exchange. John didn't hesitate, vaulting immediately up the stairs and through the door. Castiel was on his feet in seconds, trying to shake his head clear of the darkness that John had filled it with. He ran at the hunter's heels towards the sound of the screaming, skidding to a halt in the doorway of Jeffery's room.

Lying in his hospital bed, eyes opened wide with shock, was Jeffery. The two foot long, fletched shaft sticking out of his chest told them they were too late. With a curse, John spun around and sprinted down the hall, bypassing the elevator completely and instead taking the stairs two or three at a time. Again, Castiel was right on his heels, fear growing in his heart. If Nimrod had managed to finish Jeffery off, then Dean and Sam must have failed to stop him.

So what had happened to them?

No… no, no… he couldn't lose Dean and Sam, not now… Besides, they were all he had left…

Together, John and Castiel burst out through the bottom door into the night. Of all times to not be able to fly to his friends! Castiel wanted to scream with frustration, but he only narrowed his eyes and ran harder, not used to the physical exertion such an activity took. The sound of a gunshot overhead made the angel gasp in alarm.

"Dean!" he called out loud, following John up the fire escape. "Sam!"

When they reached the top, Castiel nearly collapsed in relief to see Sam on his feet, gun pointed towards the far edge of the roof. There was nothing there; if Nimrod had been the killer, he was already gone.

But where was Dean?

"Sammy!" John shouted, the youngest Winchester whipping around with fear in his eyes. "What happened?!"

Sam didn't answer. Instead, he hurried to the air unit, kneeling down behind it out of sight. As John and Castiel approached, rounding the vent, the angel finally caught sight of Dean and a terrified tremor ran through him.

"No," he whispered, kneeling down beside Sam. A hand on his shoulder shoved him out of the way, John squatting between the two as the older hunter checked Dean over for injuries with an air of skill and desperation.

"Did the Nephilim shoot him?!" John demanded; Sam shook his head mutely, eyes still wide. Castiel didn't see any blood, and he could still sense a strong presence from Dean. The angel sat back on his heels, exhaling slowly with weak relief.

"He's okay."

"Okay?! Our vic is _dead_ , Dean's unconscious, tell me what the _hell_ went wrong, Sam! You were supposed to stop Nimrod! What happened?!"

Sam wasn't looking at John, anxiously focused on Dean, as he muttered in reply, "We didn't see him coming. Dean tried to charge him down."

"What do you mean, you didn't see- what, can it make itself invisible?!"

"No, no… we were-" Sam cut off quickly, before finishing, "-talking."

"DAMN it, Sam!" John's yell echoed in the night, heavy with frustration and blame. Sam ducked his head, looking so guilty that Castiel almost hurt.

Somehow, he felt that the young hunter wasn't being entirely truthful, and his heart clenched. There was a bruise on Sam's face; was that from Nimrod, or had he and Dean been fighting? They'd seemed angry with each other as they'd left, and it wasn't difficult to guess why; was this Castiel's fault? Could he do _anything_ besides create more problems?

"Nimrod knocked him out," Sam muttered, looking away towards the roof edge he'd been shooting towards. "Then he ran. I _know_ I hit him, but it didn't seem to do much. Cas was right, it's going to take an angel blade or the holy oil." The young hunter closed his eyes, swallowed, then murmured, "Dad, I'm sorry. We screwed up."

"Yeah, tell Jeffery you're sorry," John snapped, patting Dean's cheek now. "You just got him _killed._ If I'd known you boys couldn't handle this one, simple thing, I would have left you at the motel. Dean, _wake up_!"

With a sharp inhale, Dean's eyes flew open, then he groaned and lifted a hand to his forehead. John shifted back, helping his son to sit up, as Sam and Castiel also hurried to lean over him and assure themselves that he was actually going to be alright.

"Dean," Sam gasped, grabbing his brother's shoulder tightly – not at all the same movement as John had done to Castiel, the angel couldn't help but think. He could feel Sam's worry for his brother, regardless of any contention that might have been between them. "Dean, you okay?"

Dean only stared at Sam for a second, obviously still dazed, but then he gave them a slow nod and firmly announced,

"Potatoes."

Everyone froze, nothing to be heard on the rooftop but the quiet chirrups of distant crickets, as Dean blinked and gave his head a quick shake. "Potatoes," he tried again, then more forcefully as he grabbed Sam's arm in obvious panic, "Potatoes have wings!"

"No," Castiel assured him with a frown. "They don't."

"Goat fracking clothes line!"

The angel had no idea what Dean was trying to say, but the intent came through quite clearly as the bizarre expletive tore the night air. Beside them, John sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he spoke for them all.

"Shit…"

SPN SPN SPN

They spent a restless night in the motel, Cas muttering that he would stand guard outside. Sam wanted to tell him to come back in, but he frankly didn't want John anywhere near their friend. He wanted to go out and join Cas, but he didn't want to leave his brother, who'd become Nimrod's next target, because of Sam's stupidity.

Why hadn't he insisted that they pay attention to the job, instead of letting himself be dragged into that fight? Because of _their_ carelessness, the man they were supposed to be saving had been killed, and now Dean was on the hook. Typical.

By the time morning dawned, John had already gone out on his own and the other two hunters had given up trying to get any sleep. Sam hesitantly approached his brother, their argument temporarily forgotten in the face of this new problem. "Hey, um… how you doing?"

"Well, if you were a slug, I'd take up crochet."

"…Oh." Sam blinked, not sure how he was supposed to interpret that. "That's, um… good?"

Dean glared at him. "I asked for _pancakes!_ "

"Oh. Uh… not good, then."

This time, his brother only rolled his eyes. There wasn't much point in trying to decipher the nonsensical comments. There was no rhyme or reason to what he said, and writing it down hadn't worked any better for him than it had for Jeffery. The best they could do was to focus on tracking Nimrod down and killing him quickly, before Dean's three days were up.

Behind them, the door opened and John stepped back in with the morning sun, grim and intense.

"Alright, I have an idea," he said without preamble. "I'm not waiting around for it to come after Dean. We're going to draw this bastard out."

"Hang on," Sam interrupted, jumping to his feet and hurrying to the door John had just closed. He leaned out, seeing Cas sitting on the same bench as the previous morning, leaning his arms on his knees with a despondent droop of his head. "Cas. We need you in here."

The angel didn't reply, only climbed to his feet and silently followed Sam back into the room, taking up a position in the corner with his arms folded.

"Okay," Sam said, nodding to his dad with an equally grim smile. "What's the plan?"

He and Dean traded knowing looks, both of them leaning in closer. Even if Sam couldn't approve of his father's bigotry and his die-hard utilitarianism, he had to admit that John Winchester was the best hunter out there. He could feel Dean practically wriggling beside him, eager to get moving and take care of this Nephilim once and for all.

To their surprise, John jerked his head in Castiel's direction, stating confidently, "We'll use the halo. Nimrod won't pass up an easy target, especially if it can sense how handicapped this one is. It's the perfect bait."

Stunned silence fell. Sam stared at his father, eagerness melting instantly into disbelief. Surely he'd just misheard… but he knew his dad, and the hope that there was some kind of miscommunication was a futile one.

"Uh… did you water the roses?" Dean asked, guarded and frowning. Sam finally shot a glance over at Cas; he was examining the ground silently, as inscrutable as ever.

"Look, the halos are the ones who cursed Nimrod in the first place," John explained, forehead pinching together as he shot his sons a look. He gestured brusquely towards Cas. "Think about it. If Nimrod catches a halo's scent, it'll _have_ to attack."

"He's right," Cas offered now, gravelly voice directed more towards the scuffed and ratty carpet than the three humans. "I do not believe Nimrod could resist. He'll sense that I'm…" He broke off, then finished haltingly, "…not at full strength."

To hell with this. Sam snorted in soft, unamused laughter.

This was just unbelievable. An easy target… after saving the world and jumping headfirst into Lucifer's clutches to save Sam, that was all Cas was? If Dean wasn't going to stop this, then Sam would do it himself.

"You know," he snapped, turning to his dad. "You really are a piece of work."

"Excuse me?" John's voice was full of warning, a tone that would have made Sam step back as a kid, but he wasn't about to back down now. Fire built in his chest, a heated anger that bubbled and frothed in the wake of his ire.

"You heard me!"

"Something you want to say, Sam?"

"Bikinis," Dean quickly cut in, shifting between the two to bodily keep them separated, though there was uncertainty tingeing his green eyes. "Suit up, I got a pair of deuces."

Sam could see his brother's anxiety, knew that Dean hated to see them fight more than nearly anything, but he was so far beyond _done_ with this bullshit, it wasn't even funny. He'd _tried_ to give their dad a chance to realize on his own what an asshole he was being, but this was just the last straw.

Brushing his brother aside with a cold glare, Sam turned his attention back to John. "Yeah, there's something I want to say!" he snarled. "For example, that _'halo'_?" Sam barreled on, ignoring Dean's warning growl as John took a matching step closer towards him. " _His_ name is Castiel!"

"Fuzzy socks-"

"What's your point, Sam?" John's voice was still level, still calm, but Sam knew better.

He knew his rebellion made his dad furious; he just didn't care. They were toe to toe now, Sam's clear eyes burning furiously into John's equally angry dark ones. John's presence was heavy and fierce, but Sam had a good two inches on him, and neither was backing down. Gesturing to Cas, who was staring resolutely at the floor with his fists clenched, looking so damn uncomfortable, Sam snapped, "My point is, Cas isn't just some _thing_ you can dangle in front of a pissed off monster!"

"I'm-I'm standing right here," Cas murmured, but his voice was drowned out by John's retort.

"What the hell has gotten into you? We've _all_ been bait before! If I thought Nimrod would be more tempted by me, I'd do it myself. We use bait because it _works_ , and you know that. Or you _would,_ if you would pull your head out of your damn ass for two minutes."

"Oh, I'm the one with my head up my ass?!"

"That's enough," John snapped, terse now as his voice began to rise as only Sam could make it do. "We wouldn't have to do this at all if you two hadn't screwed up last night! This isn't up for debate, we've got a _monster_ running around out there, putting human lives at risk, and I'm not going to let it _kill Dean_ because you were more concerned about one busted up halo!"

"Stop calling him that!"

"God d-" John broke off with a curse, stoic mask falling away completely now as he raised a hand. For a wild second, Sam thought his dad might _actually_ hit him. From the way Dean lurched forward, he had probably just had the same crazy thought, but John just gestured to Cas once again as he shouted, "That's what it _is_! Now I said that's _enough_ , we use the h- the _angel_ as bait! When Nimrod comes in for the attack, we'll be waiting and we can _end_ this thing, and when this is over, Sam?" he suddenly added, jabbing a finger towards Sam with a ferocity that the youngest Winchester remembered only too well. "You and I are going to have a _serious_ talk about that attitude of yours, because you'd better _believe_ I'll still put you over my knee if you don't watch your tone!"

"Is that supposed to be a _threat_?!"

"Please… please stop," whispered Castiel, though Sam only barely heard him. The genuine emotion in his voice was enough to make the hunter pause, though, turning to his friend in concern. The angel caught his eyes, hands twisting in the fabric of his trench coat in obvious misery. "Please… you're _family,_ you're supposed to stick together... family isn't supposed to fall apart... not over me."

Sam swallowed, expression turning apologetic, while he mentally cursed himself and his dad, for the effect this had on Cas. He hadn't even thought about how his friend would feel, watching the domestic drama unfold after being forced to see his own family crumble.

Dean took advantage of the interruption, grabbing Sam's jacket and yanking him away from their dad. He wasn't saying a word, but the set of his jaw and the dangerous spark in his eye made him more than a rival for John's wrath. Sam let his brother shove him over towards the beds, Dean jamming a finger at him in a clear order to stay over there, before he spun on their father and repeated the gesture. Sam was surprised the paint itself wasn't peeling off the walls from the force of his brother's glare.

Finally, Dean looked to Castiel, snapping his fingers impatiently until the angel looked up at him. Sam felt a bit of relief cooling off his own rage when his brother forcefully shook his head. At least Dean wasn't agreeing to this.

Cas blinked, however, then straightened. "Dean, I want to catch Nimrod, and John is correct that he'll come after me. I- I don't mind."

"See, it doesn't mind," John snapped, and Sam saw red again.

"HE!"

"You keep this up, boy, and I swear to _God_ -"

" _FISHSTICKS_!" There was a sound of splintering wood and shattering glass as Dean kicked the nearby table so hard that it flipped onto its side, the lamp crashing to the ground. Everyone jumped, coming to a halt again, as the hunter breathed heavily and sent a shriveling glare at all three individually. "A girl can only take so many baboons! _Fairy lights_ , you piece of cake, _all_ of you!"

This would have been hilarious if Sam wasn't so angry. Again, it was hard to tell what exactly Dean was trying to say, but the overall message came through loud and clear. Sam looked away, expression still tight, but relenting with a huff. Across the room, John did the same, while Cas just went back to staring at the ground. Dean strode over to the angel, clapping a hand to his friend's arm.

"Candles," he addressed him in a quieter voice, sounding more worried now than angry as he shook his head. "Stay out of the Beanie Weenies. Got it?"

Cas stared at him. "No…"

"I think you're 'Candles', Cas," Sam offered, arms crossed and still glaring the other direction. "He's saying you don't have to do this."

"Happy birthday, bitch."

Sam's mouth twitched slightly in spite of himself at the sarcastic reply. "Well, that one's easy," he muttered.

The angel still seemed confused, but he turned to Dean once more, looking sad and resolute as he shrugged one shoulder. "I'm going to do it, Dean. We have to stop Nimrod before he kills you. It's worth the risk."

Then, taking a breath, Cas stepped forward to stand in front of John, both fists clenched. "Just tell me what I need to do."


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: Since I couldn't thank my guest reviewers personally, thanks to Dani, fangirl, and guest! ^_^ Haha, well, there's no Ruby or spanking planned - but I have to say, if John ever found out about Ruby, I'm pretty sure he'd just die on the spot and then this would be a much shorter story..._

 _There's a super brief bit of head-canon about angel blades here. Sort of just something said in passing, but just so no one gets confused, I know it's not used in the show, LOL._

 _Also, another thanks to Aini NuFire for beta-ing this, encouraging me, and breaking my heart all over again with her own fics! Check out her latest fic, Gone Nuclear, for some good ol' I-hate-Metatron-but-really-really-really-love-Cas family feels :)_

* * *

 **Chapter 6 – In Which Things Go From Bad to Worse**

John was ready to do some serious damage.

Between the natural terror he felt for Dean, knowing that he'd become a target due to the pure incompetence of the damn halos, Sam's disturbingly pro-monster rebelliousness, and the halo currently plaguing his family, it was taking everything he had to stoically keep himself together.

Why couldn't they _see_ , he wondered in outraged frustration. He could almost understand it from Sam, the bleeding heart with his own unfortunate streak of darkness. But Dean? John wanted to kick his ass for not having disposed of the halo already.

It had to have something to do with Lucifer and the Apocalypse; his sons had not told him the full story about that, which was disconcerting enough. Add angels into the mix? There was definitely something fishy about it all.

John couldn't remember much from his time in Heaven, but he was slowly starting to get some old familiar feelings coming back, and at the very top of the list was one unshakeable fact: Halos were not to be trusted.

Period.

They were monsters, and somehow, _everything_ that had happened was their fault, all the way back to the death of his Mary. He _knew_ it, even if the hunter couldn't quite pin down how he knew, not just yet.

Bad enough that halos had even been on Earth, wreaking their havoc. But now, one had infested _John's_ family, and for some insane reason, his sons were letting it tag along and play house instead of giving it the bloody death it deserved. If not for that damn _monster_ , they might have been able to save Jeffery even with his sons' gross negligence.

Worse, it had started turning John's own sons against him, just like the voice in his dreams continued to warn him would happen, and he wouldn't have that.

The only question was, how was he supposed to get rid of it, when Sam and Dean had gotten so ensnared in its grasp that they would probably fight him should he try to take it out? But being a father meant sometimes he had to be the bad guy, for the sake of his sons. They would probably hate him for it, wouldn't understand that it was for their own good, but he would find a way.

"You said it would take the holy oil or the angel sword, right?" John snapped now, arms crossed as he glared at his youngest son. "You said that's what it would take, to kill the Nephilim."

"Yeah," Sam retorted, as defiant as ever. "But I don't see why Cas can't hold on to his own blade!"

John gave the halo a baleful glare, silently cursing the monster for causing this fuss. All the hunter had said was that he would take the sword himself to use on Nimrod, and the halo had suddenly refused to part with it.

"Sounds like it's just big talk about wanting to help Dean," John growled. "But find out it has to surrender its weapon, and it's singing a different tune."

"I told you, it's _he_!"

Beside Sam, Dean waved his arms suddenly, still frustratingly unable to actually say a damn thing that made any sense. John gave him an impatient look and raised an eyebrow.

" _What_ , Dean?"

He'd give his son kudos for the stubborn attempt to adapt to his new problem, but the kid was a hunter, not a charades actor. John rolled his eyes and held up a hand when Dean's gestures failed to communicate anything at all. "No- Dean, stop, I have no idea what you're saying."

He turned back to the halo, which was clutching its weapon uncertainly, and snapped, "Give it to me."

The faster he could disarm the thing, the better. He'd already seen what it could do with its weapon, and John didn't like those odds.

The halo swallowed, then looked down at the blade. "I… you must understand, an angel's blade is… very important to them. This weapon is part of me-"

"Yeah, you're breaking my heart, now if you give a damn about Dean surviving this, _give it to me_. If you have a weapon on you, that thing isn't going to come within ten feet. The point of being bait is that you aren't armed. You asked what you needed to do and I told you, so if you've changed your mind about wanting to help, then get out."

The thing bit its lip, looking anxiously to John's sons for help. The older hunter's eyes narrowed. He suspected the halo could somehow tell that he was fantasizing about grabbing the weapon and ramming it through the monster's heart right then and there. Perhaps that was why it was reluctant to hand it over.

Of course, as tempting as the idea was, they desperately needed the bait. John would wait until after this problem was taken care of before turning his attention more fully to the monster in their midst.

"I played with matches as a kid," Dean informed them in a rush, apparently no longer able to bite his tongue even though he had to know that they wouldn't have a clue what he was saying. John barely managed to hold back the impatient reprimand. Collectively, the group stared at Dean, whose face darkened with obvious annoyance at his disability.

"What, Dean?" Sam asked, leaning towards his brother intently, eyes narrowing in concentration.

Dean let out a huff, but repeated slower, "I…" he gestured to himself, then pointed at the halo. "…played with matches…" He opened his palm, still extended towards the monster. "As a kid!"

John watched as Sam mouthed the words quickly in deep thought, eyes following Dean's hands. What, did he think he was actually going to be able to interpret the gibberish? John sighed, fingers drumming against his arm. Sam ignored him, suddenly straightening up.

"You'll take it?"

Dean exhaled, expression smoothing slightly in relief. Again, John raised an eyebrow. Perhaps he'd underestimated his boys' ability to understand each other's minds. Both of them turned to the monster now, Sam uncertain and Dean grim.

"Cas, he's offering to carry it instead, would you be okay with that? I… I think he's saying to trust him," Sam explained. The halo seemed to relax ever so slightly, as Dean stepped towards him and inexplicably touched his right hand to his left upper arm with an air of great significance.

"As a kid," he repeated, voice lower and intense. John had no idea what any of that was supposed to mean, but he watched the halo shrewdly, hoping this would do the trick. It wasn't as ideal, but he would prefer Dean have the weapon than to let the halo keep it.

Its face relaxed a bit further; somehow Dean had gotten it to look even _grateful_ as it finally handed over the blade, and John was glad to see that at least his son had some measure of influence over the thing. If he could get through to Dean, convince him to dispose of the halo, perhaps they could make good use of that trust.

"You'll be careful with this," it murmured to Dean, who nodded solemnly.

"We'll take care of it and make sure you get it back, Cas," Sam spoke up. John thought he could detect a bit of pointedness directed at him. Still, the hunter didn't say anything, merely nodded.

"Good, that's settled," he said, turning to his sons. "We still need to find somewhere for all this to go down, away from people, where Nimrod is likely to still be able to catch wind of what we've got. And we need to figure out how to get its attention."

"Susan's a tattletale."

John clenched his jaw, feeling his pride take a bit of a knock when he had to turn to Sam for help with Dean's babbling. The important thing was eliminating Nimrod once and for all, though. If Sam could somehow figure out what Dean was earnestly trying to tell them, that was all that mattered.

"What's he saying?"

Again, Sam leaned forward a bit, biting his lip in intense concentration. "Susan?"

"Susan, bitch!" Dean impatiently pointed at his eyes and then made a twisted face. " _Susan_!"

Sam blinked, then snickered softly as he wrinkled his nose. "Your- your new word for demon is… _Susan_?" He shrugged then turned back to John. "If there's any demons in the area, we can make sure they know Cas is here. Dean's right, the demons would run their mouths off about an angel being in town, Nimrod just has to come investigate."

From the grateful look on Dean's face, Sam was getting better at translating, and that end result was the only thing that counted. John nodded.

"It's a good plan," he agreed. "But finding the demons might not be any easier than finding Nimrod."

"Maybe not for us. Good thing there's an angel on our side," Sam bit out, tone growing harsh again. John was going to need to give him a _serious_ reminder about discipline when this was over. Instead of rising to the bait, though, John decided to simply bide his time.

After all, while Sammy _was_ naturally rebellious, John was certain that this was the monster's influence. As soon as that particular cancer was cut out, everything could go back the way it was meant to be. He'd see to it.

SPN SPN SPN

Castiel hated the feeling of vulnerability without his blade. He raised his right hand as he walked, clenching and unclenching his muscles as he tried to get used to the strange feeling of an empty sleeve. He would have done anything for Dean, but the idea of handing John Winchester a piece of his own soul – which also happened to be one of the only ways to kill him – was understandably enough to make him balk.

In fact, Dean or Sam were the _only_ ones he would have willingly handed his weapon to, infused with a part of his own grace, his sole remaining connection to being an angel at all. He knew he could trust them, and he knew Nimrod would be more willing to show his face if he sensed the angel was unarmed.

But he still didn't particularly like it.

"Keep up, halo," John called over his shoulder, and the angel straightened, quickening his pace as they walked through one of the several rundown barns at the edge of town. He wished he hadn't been paired up with John again, but Sam was the only one having any success at understanding his brother.

"I do not believe any more demons will be showing their faces," Castiel said quietly. "One of the five we've seen will surely make it known to Nimrod that I'm here. He's bound to come looking for me."

"You're right," John agreed. "We're not looking for more demons. We're waiting for Sam and Dean to call with a good location. Which gives us a minute, and I need to tell you something."

Castiel's gut twisted, remembering their last 'talk'. "Yes?"

John whirled around, grabbing the lapels of the angel's trench coat and shoved hard, propelling both of them back into the wooden slat wall of the barn hard enough that Castiel heard the boards creak in protest. The wind knocked from his lungs, the angel could only gasp and try to twist away as John leaned in closer.

"You even _think_ about betraying Dean," John warned, little more than a lethal murmur, "I will kill you so fast you won't see it coming. You got that?"

"I- I would never-"

The angel couldn't bite back another gasp as John shoved him back again, his head knocking the wall. He raised his arms to push John away, but the hunter was physically stronger than the angel's vessel. Castiel was pinned.

"You've already betrayed your own kind," John snapped. He was standing too close for comfort, as Castiel fell still. "Which proves you can't be trusted. But try that here, and I'll do what the other halos couldn't, and finish you off myself."

Castiel froze, his heart throbbing with intense pain. Slowly, his mouth dropped open. "How…" he whispered. "How could you possibly know-"

"About how you turned on your own? Oh, I heard things in Heaven, things that are coming back. I wish I could remember more, but that much tells me everything I need to know. Once a traitor…" John shook his head in disgust. "Always a traitor. But I won't let you hurt my sons. I won't let you keep playing your mind games."

"John, I'm _not_ playing any-"

"So you're telling me halos can't mess with our minds?" snapped John. "Can't give us false memories? Can't take any away? Can't make us believe something that isn't true? No reason for me to think that's what you've done to Sam and Dean?"

Castiel's mind immediately flew to Sam, but he swallowed that sorrow back. Taking Sam's memories had been the human's only chance at survival. It hadn't been to manipulate him. Sam knew that, didn't he?

"John, I'm not manipulating your sons."

This was an unexpected and unsettling development, though. John was starting to remember things he'd seen and heard in Heaven? What else might that include? Castiel met the hunter's eyes as John stared at him with suspicion, continuing to keep the angel pinned to the wall. In the midst of the tense moment, the sharp electronic ring of John's phone made Castiel start.

Yanking him away from the wall, John shoved Castiel hard enough that the angel stumbled into a pile of old farm tools, tripping over them and landing on the floor with a crash of creaking metal. John turned his shoulder to the fallen angel and calmly pulled out his phone.

"Yeah, Sammy?"

Castiel didn't listen to the conversation, nor did he try to stand back up yet with John so close. If the hunter had heard chatter about him while in Heaven, from his brothers and sisters… it was no wonder that John hated him so deeply. To them, he _was_ nothing but a traitor, the one who had ruined the chance for paradise on Earth, the one who had turned on the archangels.

His own family hated him… why wouldn't John, who was already disposed to think of all angels as monsters?

The angel inhaled sharply, his hand clenching in his dress shirt over his heart. His family hated him. His brothers… his sisters… No, there was certainly no chance of ever going back. The price of trying to do the right thing was unbearably hard to pay.

Beside him, John hung up and slipped his phone back into his pocket, turning to Castiel. "Get up," he ordered. "They've found a place. And remember… anything happens to one of my sons, and I'll kill you myself."

Castiel swallowed, staring at the ground as he slowly got to his feet, following wearily behind John. They made their way out of the barn, walking along the dirt road in the direction of another cluster. Out here in the country, there was no shortage of abandoned land, and they'd given the demons a good idea of where Nimrod should start looking. Castiel was certain they wouldn't have long to wait, which was good. He just wanted this to be over, and yet he dreaded what would happen afterwards.

The truth was, the boys would never have any peace as long as he and John Winchester both remained. And yet, if a choice was called for, Castiel knew that John ought to stay. He was their real family, their _father_.

Lucifer had known, all along.

 _There will never be a place for you now._

They approached another barn, Sam stepping out to meet them with a wave of his arm. Dean seemed antsy and impatient, no doubt anxious to get his ability to speak back, as they led the way inside.

"We've swept the whole place," Sam explained, looking around. "No civilians within a mile. It's isolated enough that Nimrod should feel safe to attack, and enough places for us to hide out and wait."

John nodded at his assessment, looking around as well. "Well, this should be as good as anywhere, I guess. Let's get to it."

They turned to Castiel, who silently moved to the center of the dusty barn floor, arms loose at his sides. His wary eyes latched onto John as the hunter approached with the flask of holy oil, but Dean held out a sudden hand.

"Bitch, please. We don't need a priest."

To the angel's relief, John halted, seeing that Sam was holding up a flask of his own. He was grateful that it would be Sam who imprisoned him; Castiel trusted him far more than John. Still, he couldn't help but lick dry lips as he looked up at his friend. Sam gave him a reassuring nod and a smile.

"It's not holy oil, just regular stuff," the younger hunter explained, pouring a wide circle around the angel onto the barn's dirty concrete floor. "We're hoping Nimrod won't know the difference until it's too late. And that way you can cross the ring if you have to."

"Oh." Castiel felt a little better, straightening up and putting his "game face" on as Dean had always liked to say. "Thank you."

Sam nodded, lighting a match and dropping it onto the ring of oil. It flared up immediately in a burning circle around the angel, but he couldn't feel the terrifying deadliness that accompanied holy fire. His eyes turned once more to Dean, who held up the angel blade in reassurance and gave Castiel a grim look.

"Zoom zoom," he declared, which meant absolutely nothing to the angel. He nodded back anyway, watching as the three hunters melted back into the shadows of the barn.

Now, they merely had to wait.

Castiel glared around the barn, waiting tensely. His hands continuously flexed and relaxed, still wishing he had his blade, wondering how long it would take Nimrod to show up. Part of him was hoping they managed to capture the Nephilim instead of just killing him. Castiel desperately wanted to know how Nimrod was still alive. They'd killed him, he _knew_ they had, and all those who had been cursed had been returned to normal. The angel wanted answers, though of course Dean's safety was his primary concern.

Maybe if- wait!

Castiel shifted, crouching slightly as his grim face turned towards the barn's door. The moaning whine of unoiled hinges shattered the otherwise quiet air, the ominous approach of their enemy making the angel's jaw tighten.

He was here.

A dark shape silhouetted itself against the failing sun. Castiel could discern the outline of a man and the curve of the bow slung across his shoulders, and every nerve within him flared with the knowledge that this being was evil.

Nimrod didn't say a word, as he stepped forward slowly, eyes piercing the angel. The barn door creaked closed behind him with a shriek of rust, allowing his features to be revealed in the flicker of the fire. Castiel didn't move, fists still clenched, wishing again that he had a weapon. He remained silent as Nimrod approached. The Nephilim's eyes flashed slightly, not the bright white of a true angel, but a dimmer, grey-ish hue that only looked more eerie in the abandoned barn.

"I can see your halo," Nimrod hissed, coming to a stop outside the ring of fire. Clearly, he didn't realize that Castiel wasn't truly trapped. "Looks like someone else got to you first… angel." Nimrod squinted then, cocking his head slightly in confusion. "Your true form looks funny, though. Are you sick? Can angels get sick? Bird flu, maybe?"

"What?" Castiel demanded, glowering. He wouldn't be at all surprised to know his true form appeared sickly to those who could see it, but he wasn't pleased that Nimrod had felt the need to point that out. What did 'bird flu' have to do with anything, though?

Nimrod didn't reply, only stared at him for another moment before shrugging. "Well, I don't suppose it matters." A smile grew on his face, a shadowed leer that made Castiel's nerves tighten. "I've waited a long time to cross paths with an angel. How nice that someone already saved me the trouble of tying you down."

Castiel glared at the Nephilim, wondering when Dean would make his move. Nimrod was distracted now, but soon he would _have_ to realize that Castiel wasn't tied down at all, that this was a trap. Where was Dean!?

From the corner of his eye, the angel suddenly saw a swift movement. To his relief, all three of the Winchesters burst from concealment at the same time. Sam and John both had guns, firing them simultaneously with the hopes of at least taking Nimrod's attention off of Dean. Castiel watched as his friend rushed the Nephilim, eyes sparking with ferocity, the blade aloft…

…only to meet empty air.

"Where did he go!?" John shouted, looking around, as Castiel's eyes widened. Impossible… had Nimrod flown off?

But Nephilim weren't supposed to be able to fly. What was happening?

"Cas?!" Sam called out uncertainly, turning a slow circle with his gun pointed up in the air. Dean was standing in a ready crouch, eyes darting all around. "Cas, what's going on?"

"I- I don't know…"

There were a full five seconds of absolute silence, the four of them turning in all directions. Nothing. Yet the presence Castiel had felt was still there. Nimrod hadn't gone far. He was probably still in the barn with them, and the angel wondered again how this was even possible. This was all wrong.

Castiel shook his head. "Sam, Dean… Something isn't right-"

There was a shriek of rage, the sharp report of a gunshot, and a choked exclamation from Dean. The angel whirled back to the center, horrified as he saw his friend held aloft by the throat. Nimrod's eyes glowed brighter with fury, bleeding from a gunshot wound to the shoulder.

There was one more gunshot, one more shriek of pain, but when the dust had settled, both Nimrod and Dean were gone.


	7. Chapter 7

_A/N: To my guest reviewer, Dani - haha, I'm with you, Sam and Cas deserve massive hugs! Not John. As to whether Dean is okay... well, we'll catch back up with him in a minute here! ^_^_

 _Thanks everyone, your response to this has been incredible so far, and that's such a huge huge HUGE encouragement for me :) I'm truly touched!_

* * *

 **Chapter 7 – In Which Nimrod Really Isn't Very Bright**

"You _son of a bitch_ , I told you _nothing_ had better happen to my sons! You piece of _shit_!"

"Dad, _stop!_ "

Castiel stared at where Dean had been a moment before, feeling numb, not even fully hearing the violent expletives being hurled his way now. Sam was bodily holding John away from the angel, but Castiel could only drift forward through the flames. When he reached where Dean and Nimrod had been, he halted, then weakly sank down to brush his fingers against the concrete floor as though it would hold some clue.

There was nothing.

"I… I don't understand…"

"This is _your fault_ , you _lost_ him! You lost him, you g-"

More expletives, more shouting, with Sam still trying to yell over John. Through Castiel's dazed confusion, the accusations and threats were starting to come a little more into focus. Each word was another hole in his heart, not because of John's anger, but because Dean was gone and it _was_ Castiel's fault. It should have been _him_ instead.

The angel just didn't understand why: why was he so utterly incapable of doing anything right?

And why was it always the ones he cared most about who continued to pay the price for his failures?

"Dad, _stop_ it! It's not his fault! None of us saw this coming. This isn't helping Dean, pull yourself together!"

Silence fell over the barn, broken only by the heavy breathing of a furious John and a tense Sam. Castiel closed his eyes. Sam was kind to stick up for him, but he didn't deserve it. If he'd been a real angel, he would have been able to smite Nimrod without the need for bait at all, without the need for the Winchesters to even be in harm's way.

If he were a real angel, he could have flown off after Nimrod the night before. He could have healed Jeffery and protected him, could have protected all of the victims. He wouldn't have even cared whether John believed this was his fault or not, but Castiel _wasn't_ a real angel anymore, and he was absolutely powerless to do even one thing to protect the brothers who'd taken him in.

He was _powerless_ to have stopped Nimrod from taking Dean away, so what good was he, really?

"Cas?"

The angel flinched at the sound of his name, and the feel of a hand landing on his shoulder. Sam paused, then asked with an obvious effort to hide his anxiety and impatience, "What happened?"

"What happened is that _useless_ piece of shit monster just _lost_ your brother! Why didn't you tell us the damn thing could fly!?"

Castiel hung his head, eyes still tightly closed. "I didn't- I didn't know. He shouldn't have been able to… this- it doesn't make sense-"

"How could you _not know_?" John demanded, voice rising enough to rattle the few remaining panes of glass in the windows. "You know what, I've had just about _enough_ of this thing, I _told_ you that if anything happened to Sam or Dean-"

"Dad, you're _not helping_!" Sam snarled. "Look, he didn't know, we didn't know, but we don't have time to sit around blaming anyone. We need to get to Dean, _now_! He had his phone on him, and I doubt Nimrod would even know what a GPS _is_. We can still find him but we need to hurry."

There was a pause, and Castiel could still feel John's fury, terror, and hatred wafting off of him in waves like a stench that wouldn't go away. He knew they needed to move, and move fast, but the angel's mind was numb. This most recent, unforgivable failure of his had finally done him in. He could only stare dully at the empty space where Dean should have been, letting Sam impatiently grab his arm and pull him back up to his feet.

He didn't reply to any of John's caustic mutters, but he heard every single one of them, and the angel couldn't internally fight or protest anymore. In the end, wasn't John right?

He was no good to anyone.

Not anymore.

SPN SPN SPN

Dean came around slowly, and when he did, he wished he hadn't. With a soft groan, the hunter tried to reach a hand up to his throbbing head, only to realize that he couldn't move. His hands felt heavy, sluggish to respond. Why did his head hurt so bad?

Carefully, Dean peeled his eyes open, adjusting slowly in the dim lighting of… wherever they were. It wasn't the barn he remembered being in last. It seemed to be the living room of some old house, nothing distinctive or distinguishing to tell him more. He glanced down, clenching his fists a bit as his hands swam into focus. Manacles had his wrists chained to the wooden arms of the chair he was apparently seated in.

Well, that was just wonderful.

Rousing to find himself tied up was a relatively normal occurrence – and usually not in the fun way – but Dean didn't like not knowing where he was or what had happened between being knocked out and waking up.

What had _happened_?! The last thing he remembered was that damn Nephilim coming out of _nowhere_ and grabbing him. Why the hell hadn't Cas warned them that Nimrod could fly in and out as easily as an angel?

And where _was_ Cas, or the others? Had Nimrod taken them as well? Dean hoped to God that Cas hadn't been caught; of all of them, it was the angel who would bear the brunt of Nimrod's wrath, and the hunter couldn't stomach that thought. Dean kept looking at his hands and the chair he was in, frowning. Something seemed off about what he was seeing, but his head hurt too much for him to figure out what.

"You're awake. Good."

The hunter's eyes shifted back up, narrowing as he tried to locate his captor among the shadows. He felt marginally better that at least none of his family was immediately visible as well, so perhaps he was the only one who'd been captured. Or else they were just tied up somewhere else.

Dean's gaze finally settled on a form along the wall opposite of him, Nimrod stepping forward into the greyish twilight. The Nephilim was scrutinizing him with a deep frown, toying carelessly with Cas's angel blade. Dean narrowed his eyes; he'd promised Cas he'd give that back, so he couldn't lose it now.

Or be killed with it. Yeah, being killed with Cas's sword was definitely far at the bottom of his list.

Straightening up as best as he could while tied to a chair, Dean gruffly demanded, "Is this the second star on the right?"

Damn it. The hunter growled in frustration, leaning his head back against the chair to glare at the crumbling ceiling. Why had he even bothered, still cursed with this babbling thing? Not that the Nephilim would have been likely to answer the question of where they were anyway.

The Nephilim simply shrugged, taking a few steps forward. "I don't think so. It's Earth," he replied, sounding oddly serious though the question had come out as gibberish. Nimrod continued to stare hard at Dean and didn't offer any further explanation.

It was rather discomfiting, so Dean stared back in irritation. Then, he suddenly blinked and glanced down again as it dawned on him what had seemed so out of place.

There was a sigil scratched into the moldy carpet, dug into the floor surrounding the chair he was in. It wasn't one he recognized, but then again he was only very familiar with… well, one. The hunter wasn't sure what this one was supposed to do, and he looked up at Nimrod with wariness and questioning. A slow, dark smile creased the Nephilim's face as he nodded.

"That's right, you're not going anywhere," he informed his captive with a smirk. "I've waited a _long_ time to get my hands on one of you."

"Are you my mommy?"

 _No_ , damn it all, that was _completely_ _not_ what he was trying to say! Dean pursed his lips, taking a deep, calming breath. Nimrod regarded him blankly.

"No… I'm a Nephilim. You've _forgotten_ me? Oh!" Nimrod's expression cleared briefly and he straightened, but then frowned in confusion once again. "Wait… I'm confused, did I curse you?"

Dean gave him the deadpan bitch-face of death, not at all amused. The question seemed to be a sincere one, though, and Nimrod suddenly let out a bark of laughter.

"I _did_! I cursed you! He said he would make me stronger, but I didn't know I'd be _that_ powerful that even _you_ could be affected. Hah!" Nimrod spun the blade a few times, strolling closer towards Dean – who was becoming more baffled by the second.

 _Who_ had said Nimrod would be more powerful? Why should it take more power for Dean to have been affected by the curse? Why would Nimrod have been waiting to get his hands on a hunter in the first place? What the _hell_ was going on? The hunter continued to glare at Nimrod, trying to lean further and further back into his seat as the Nephilim approached, but there was nowhere to go. Nimrod stretched out his hand, making Dean turn his head with eyes tightly closed, waiting for the killing blow.

Instead, he felt a hand on his forehead, a jolt that left him momentarily dizzy, and then the hand retreated. Dean opened his eyes.

"There, now try."

"Try _what_ , you psycho?!" Dean grumbled. "What the hell's going on, anyway?!" Wait… real words! The hunter exhaled with weak relief, leaning his head back against the chair again in spite of the situation. "Finally."

"Yes, I wish I could have just done that the _last_ time I was here. But now we can have a little talk," the Nephilim agreed, continuing to twirl Cas's blade in slow circles as he now started to walk an ominous ring around the trapped hunter. "Just a quick one. Then I can get on with killing you, as slowly and agonizingly as I can."

"So much for not giving away the spoilers," Dean pretended to complain. He forced himself to stay still instead of trying to twist around to find the taunting Nephilim. The bravado might not get him anywhere, but it was a better option than embracing what a bad position he was actually in.

He was positive the others would fight as hard as they could to reach him in time. Realistically, though, that might not happen, and he didn't want to think about the ultimate outcome of this encounter if they didn't.

So Dean merely cocked a sarcastic eyebrow, demanding, "What did I ever do to you, anyway?"

Nimrod's eyes darkened as he circled back around and glared at the hunter. "Funny."

"I try."

The Nephilim seemed impervious to the charming grin Dean tossed his direction. Instead, he stormed forward and jammed the angel blade up under Dean's chin so that the hunter had to quickly tip his head as far back as he could to avoid being skewered.

"Let's start with something simple," Nimrod snapped.

"Yeah, I forgot, you're a nimrod. I'll try and keep it simple for you." He just knew Sam would have been giving him a dirty look for that, but the Nephilim only pressed the point of the blade into Dean's skin slightly, nicking him just enough for a drop of blood to run down the silver metal.

"Of course I'm Nimrod, who did you think you were talking to?! Now tell me, why can't I see your true form?!"

Dean had to process that one, forehead bunching into a baffled frown. "Uh… what?"

"Your true form. How are you hiding it? That other one back at the barn, the sick angel… I could see his. Why can't I see _yours,_ angel?"

"…Oh, you've gotta be kidding me." Dean rolled his eyes, snickering slightly. "You really _are_ a nimrod. You sorry sucker."

"Yes, I'm Nimrod!" the Nephilim shouted, clearly out of patience as he jerked the blade away from Dean's chin and grabbed a fistful of the hunter's shirt instead. "Answer the question! How are you hiding your halo?! Will there be others like you coming after me that I can't see?!"

Wriggling in a futile effort to extract himself from the fierce grip, Dean glared at Nimrod in exasperation. "Chill out, you can't see my- my "true form" or whatever the hell, because I'm not an angel! I'm a hunter. A _human_."

The Nephilim dropped him with a derisive snort, returning to his slow circles around his captive, tracing the blade around Dean's shoulders and back as he walked so that the hunter involuntarily shuddered. "Right… a human, with an angel's blade. Humans don't have angels' blades, only angels do, so you're obviously an angel. Do you take me for a fool?"

Dean couldn't help but laugh. Provoking Nimrod probably wasn't a good idea, but how was he supposed to keep a straight face through this? No wonder the idiot had drawn a sigil on the floor, it was probably to keep an angel bound. That also explained why Nimrod wanted to kill him at all, though Dean didn't like the sound of that whole "slow and agonizing" part. The Nephilim was a moron, but more than capable.

"Why are you laughing?" Nimrod demanded, before leaning in from behind so quickly that Dean jumped, feeling the sharp point of the blade jabbing at his back between the chair slats. "We'll see how funny you think you are when I carve your true form right out of that vessel."

"Oh, come on, lighten up!" Dean griped. "Look, I'm _not_ an angel, alright? That guy in the barn, the one in the fire? It's _his_ blade, not mine. Dude, I'm telling you, you grabbed the wrong guy." How was it easier to believe that he could somehow hide his halo or whatever, rather than that he'd just gotten the blade off an actual angel?

"The sick one? His light's almost gone. Did you capture him so you could kill off the weak link? I wouldn't put it past an angel, you're all the same."

Dean's amused expression dropped, leaving a cool glare in its place. "That's sick. _No_. I'm _not_ an angel and he's _not_ a weak link. I didn't even capture him, that was a trap for _you_ , dumbass."

There was a pause, then the blade in his back pulled away as Nimrod walked around once again to eye the hunter suspiciously. "A trap for me? But the fire was already lit. What had you hoped to accomplish?"

"Oh my _god_ , you've gotta be the _dumbest_ monster I've ever seen." And yet, Nimrod had still managed to catch him, what a blow this was to Dean's ego. "Cas was just the _bait_ to get you to the _barn_ , the fire had nothing to do with you. It wasn't even real holy fire! Geez, you call yourself a monster?" Dean scowled at the Nephilim, shaking his head. "Look… you might as well let me go, I had nothing to do with the whole… poop tower thing."

Nimrod didn't seem convinced, crossing his arms and rubbing his chin as he frowned thoughtfully. "Hmm. I suppose that would explain why I can't see your true form, though I don't understand how you hoped to trap me. If you didn't have holy fire, I would have just flown away anyway."

 _Yeah, thanks a LOT, Cas._ Dean twisted his mouth, looking away as he admitted grudgingly, "Well… we didn't know you could fly."

"Well, you wouldn't, would you? It's one of the new powers I was given when I was brought back."

What, seriously? Then... Cas hadn't known, Dean realized with a shock of horror, a tremble of guilt racing through his chest for having been so annoyed at the lack of warning. But Cas _couldn't_ have warned them, because Nimrod wasn't _supposed_ to fly. But somehow, Dean doubted that his dad would be as understanding that it wasn't the angel's fault; something dark and uneasy nudged at his mind, but the hunter pushed it aside. First, he had to focus on getting out of here alive.

In the space of silence that followed, another thought occurred to Dean, and he looked up at the Nephilim in bemusement. "Hang on… you couldn't have thought _all_ those people were angels, cause I _know_ they didn't have angel blades. You've been killing _humans_. Why?"

Nimrod shrugged. "That's why I'm here. He raised me, made me powerful so that I could kill, so I did."

"What, Lucifer? He raised you?"

"Lucifer?" The Nephilim stared at Dean, shaking his head. "Isn't he that bad archangel who fell? It couldn't have been him."

"Then _who_?" Dean demanded urgently, but Nimrod only shrugged. Of course he had no idea, he didn't even know the difference between an angel and a human, why would Dean have expected him to know this one, simple, _vital_ piece of information?

"I don't know his name," Nimrod retorted. His eyes flashed and he pointed Cas's sword at Dean once again, voice carrying a bite of impatience now. Dean swallowed, eyes latching onto the blade as his captor snapped, "I didn't _ask_ who he was. I don't _care_ who he was. He gave me a body and new powers, and I'm going to _use_ them. And even if you're _not_ an angel, you still tried to kill me… and I'm getting bored with our conversation."

"Uh… we can… we can always change the subject," Dean suggested, pressing back into the chair once again as Nimrod began stepping slowly forward. The hunter laughed nervously. "I mean, we don't have to do anything drastic here. What- what would you rather talk about?"

The blade hovered in front of him, and then the Nephilim leaned over, his free hand landing heavily on Dean's shoulder as he whispered darkly, "Why don't we talk about how this trap of yours was supposed to work. I believe you said the angel was… bait."

"Oh, I don't think you really want to talk about that-"

"I suppose that makes _you_ the bait now, doesn't it? Is that how this works?" The hand on Dean's shoulder tightened, making the hunter wince, as Nimrod snarled, "Do you suppose he'll get here faster if you're dying? Think he'll come running if he feels you scream?"

Dean licked dry lips, trying to think of a smart answer, but he never had the time to snap out a witty retort before the silver blade flashed forward and plunged hilt deep into his helpless form.


	8. Chapter 8

_A/N: Again, thank you so much, everyone! I know a lot of folks are worried about Dean, so I won't keep you in suspense._

 _To my guests: Guest- LOL, here's your update! Dani- thanks! Hah, more trouble is definitely on the way o.O_

* * *

 **Chapter 8 – In Which Dean Whump Figures Prominently**

Sam knew John was pushing the Impala as fast as he dared, not wanting to attract the attention of any local cops. They didn't have time to pull over and talk their way out of a ticket. But it wasn't fast enough, he needed to reach Dean, _now_.

"Left up here," he directed his dad tersely from the passenger seat. With a grim nod, John spun the wheel and sent them skidding around the turn, taking off again as soon as the Impala found traction on the rural dirt road.

Tearing his eyes from the local map he was navigating with, Sam checked the rearview.

To his concern, Cas was still sitting in the exact same position, staring dully out the window without making a sound. Sam didn't like how quiet the angel had been, especially since Dean had disappeared. They were _all_ worried, though Sam tried to rationalize to himself that Nimrod wouldn't have taken Dean away just to kill him. He could have done that right there before their eyes, if that was all he wanted.

"The GPS in his phone said it's about ten miles from here," Sam finally said, just to break the tension. "Somewhere away from the town, looked like it might have been a house or an old building."

John's jaw tightened, nodding. "We'll find him."

Silence fell for another moment, before Sam could take it no longer. He glared ferociously, smacking the the dashboard with a sharp grunt. "I don't _get_ it, why's he going after Dean!? His three days aren't up yet!"

"Doesn't matter," John replied, darkness in his voice. "This ends tonight. Right now. Of course, we don't have the _blade_ anymore."

Nothing from Cas in the back seat. Sam checked the rearview again; Cas had closed his eyes, head bowed in what looked disturbingly like guilty defeat.

"We'll have to get it back from Nimrod, then," he said loudly. "Cas, when-"

"DEAN!"

Both Sam and John jumped in shock, Sam spinning around in his seat at the sound of the angel's unexpected cry. Castiel was sitting bolt upright now, staring ahead in horror.

"What is it?!" John demanded, but the angel cried out again and grabbed Sam's shoulder.

"Sam, we have to go faster! Something's happening… Dean just- _agh_!"

"Cas, _what_ is _happening_!?" Sam shouted, as he felt his dad slamming the pedal all the way down to the floor. To hell with the police and speed limits. The Impala's engine roared as it surged forward, while Castiel gasped for breath in the back seat. "Cas?! What? Did Nimrod…?"

No one even breathed, waiting on the edge of their seats, until Castiel finally met Sam's desperate eyes and swallowed. "No, no, he's alive."

With a rush of exhaled breath, Sam leaned back in the seat. "Shit, Cas, don't _do_ that."

"Then what is it?" snapped John, not taking his eyes off the road. "What, are you telling me you can… you can _feel_ him or something?!"

Castiel shook his head slightly, looking down. "He was praying, I- I could only pick up bits and pieces. It's hard to hear anymore, but Dean comes in stronger than most if he calls out to me. Nimrod's waiting for us. He… he hurt Dean. I felt it right before Dean cut off."

Sam's fists were clenched so tightly that his hands were starting to cramp. He traded a quick look with his father, unable to keep the worry from his eyes. Bad enough that Nimrod was expecting them to show up, but now Dean was injured.

"Hurt him _how_?" John snarled, voice promising that he would either kill Nimrod or make the Nephilim wish he would.

Castiel only shook his head again. "I don't know… I only know he's in a lot of pain now."

There was nothing else that could be said after that grim assessment, and they lapsed into silence once again. The Impala flew down the road as if she knew her driver was in danger, skimming the ruts and sliding over loose gravel like a wild animal on a rampage. Sam went back to watching the map, waiting for Cas to give them any updates as he got them. The angel never said another word, though, and by the time they arrived at the coordinates Dean's GPS had given them, all three of the car's occupants were wound tightly enough to snap at any moment.

"Go," John ordered in a low voice, gun in hand as he jumped out of the car and shut the door as quietly as possible. "Once we're inside, Sam, cover Dean, try and get him out if you can. I'll distract the Nephilim. You," he added through gritted teeth, glaring at Cas. "Find that damn blade and _use_ it. I want this quick and clean, got it?"

Both Sam and Castiel nodded, and the three raced silently towards the crumbling house. The windows facing the overgrown yard were broken and dark, showing no movement. There was nowhere to hide out here in the yard, and night hadn't fallen fully enough to shield them, so if Nimrod was waiting for them, it was entirely possible he already knew they'd arrived.

Sam's expression hardened. Ready for them or not, Nimrod would pay for whatever he'd done to his brother.

The front door hung loosely open on its rusted hinges, listing forward drunkenly as the three pushed their way inside. John paused, assessing the layout in the blink of an eye and then signaling to Sam and Cas. Sam nodded his understanding, going around to the hallway on the left while John and the angel crept towards the right, making a wide circle to come in on both sides.

"I'm surprised…"

Sam crouched slightly at the sound of the distant voice, but it wasn't raised, not directed at him. Nimrod. The hunter scowled, creeping along with his own gun at the ready. He listened, hoping for more of an idea of the situation in the room just ahead.

"I wonder why he didn't fly right in to save you," Nimrod went on, as Sam pressed himself against the wall beside the entryway to the living room. He could hear Dean breathing heavily as well, labored and ragged gasps tearing from his brother's throat. Each one slashed into Sam's own chest, terrified to turn the corner, horrified at the thought of what he might find.

"Go… to hell-" he heard Dean grind out, clearly able to talk like a normal person again. His fiery words were laced with pain, though, and broke off abruptly with an agonized shout that made Sam's blood run cold.

"No. I think I'll stay here. Very well, though, if that didn't get the angel here, then there's not much point keeping you alive. I know it's a bit early, but no matter."

There was another half-choked, tortured cry from Dean and a rustle of movement from the room. Sam heard a few footsteps, as he crouched, waiting. As soon as he knew his dad and Cas had made their way around to the other side, he'd make his move, but he couldn't risk jumping in too soon before they were ready, alerting Nimrod and getting _all_ of them killed.

"Doesn't matter… what you do…" Dean snapped. Sam heard him laugh slightly, more cold than humorous. "You're a dead man, you son of a bitch. They'll kill you... no matter what happens to me."

"Hmm. I don't think so." There was another pause, then Nimrod's voice again, filled with dark glee. "I'm an extremely good shot, you know. I can't miss from here. Let's see which is faster… your angel or my arrow."

Nimtod was going to kill Dean! Where were the others?! Sam tensed, ready to move; he couldn't wait any longer!

The hunter took a breath, then dashed around the corner. At the exact same time, John and Cas came crashing through the other side of the room, converging in like a thundercloud. Sam took in the entire scene in less than a second.

Dean was on the side closest to him, bound to a decrepit looking chair by old, heavy chains. Sam saw with horror that the angel blade was sticking out of his chest, blood already soaked through his shirt with more seeping out. It was too high and on the wrong side to have come even close to his heart, but it looked like it ran right through. The hunter was certain that Nimrod had been viciously twisting it around, just to make Dean scream.

The Nephilim had retreated to the other side of the room. His bow was nocked and ready, a massive arrow pointed straight at Dean, whose chin was jutted out in fiery defiance. Nimrod was right, though: from there, he couldn't possibly miss.

But the Nephilim hadn't counted on Cas.

"The angel," Castiel snarled in reply to Nimrod's speculation on which was faster, charging headlong into their enemy with all the strength he had. Nimrod released a shocked cry as both of them crashed to the ground, the arrow flying free with a mighty twang.

Sam pulled up short as the shot went wild, splintering the wall next to his head as the arrow buried itself in all the way up to the fletching. Leaving Cas and John to worry about the Nephilim, Sam dove straight for his brother.

"Hiya, Sammy… took you long enough," Dean grunted out, trying to tug at the chains binding his wrists. The movement made him gasp in pain, though, and he looked at the hilt sticking out of his shoulder. "I, uh… got the angel blade back."

"Just hold on, Dean," Sam urged him, frantically digging in his pocket for the lock pick set he always kept handy. "I'm gonna get you out. What's with the sigils?"

"Oh yeah, about that. I told you this guy... was a complete nimrod." Dean snorted in humorless laughter as Sam crammed the torque wrench into the lock on the closest handcuff, then started jimmying with the pick. "Since I was the one with the blade, he figured I was... an angel."

Sam didn't have time to spare his brother a look, but he snorted dryly. "Okay, that's a first."

"And a last," agreed Dean, before closing his eyes and gritting his teeth. "Hurry it up, Sammy. I'm... sort of bleeding out here."

There was a gunshot behind them, the harsh report making Sam and Dean jolt. The younger hunter whipped around to see John taking aim at the Nephilim again, who was currently wrestling with Cas. The angel's teeth were bared, looking almost feral in the grim twilight, and Sam doubled his efforts to get the stubborn lock to open and release his brother.

"Get off, you stupid angel!" Nimrod shouted. There was a crack of wood and a surprised grunt from Cas, then another gunshot.

"Damn it, it's flying in and out too fast!" John called from behind Sam. "I can't get a clean shot!"

With a growl of frustration, Sam raked his pick inside the manacle lock one more time, relieved when it finally clicked. They didn't have time for him to mess around with the second one. Dropping the lock picks, Sam jumped to his feet. "Move your arm, Dean!"

"Wait, what-"

The hunter didn't bother to explain. With all the force he could muster, he slammed his heavy booted foot into the second arm of the chair with a vicious crack of wood. It splintered, leaving Dean free to lurch upright with the manacle dangling from his wrist. Sam barely managed to catch him in time as Dean ended up falling back onto the floor with a pained cry and several agonized curses, weakly grabbing at the blade piercing right through his chest just beneath the collarbone.

"Shit!" they heard John snap, followed by another heavy thud as their father came crashing into the wall behind them, thrown away by Nimrod's superior strength. Both the brothers twisted to look, eyes widening in horror as the Nephilim disappeared, only to reappear over Cas. Both hands latched onto the angel's throat, pinning him to the floor.

"Finally," Nimrod seethed, shadowed face a mask of vengeance. " _This_ is what I came for. I'm going to kill the humans, angel… and then I'm going to make you _suffer_." He paused, then gave Castiel an evil grin. "Or maybe I'll just finish you off right now. You're sick enough that I bet this would do it."

Castiel sputtered, choking as he thrashed and tried to push Nimrod off of him. His position had him at a disadvantage, though, and he couldn't match his enemy's strength. Beside Sam, Dean yelled in alarm, trying to struggle to his feet so that he could help in spite of the agony it clearly caused. But even if he'd succeeded in staying upright, they still needed a weapon. The younger hunter bit his lip, shaking his head.

"Sorry about this, Dean."

"Sorry about what?!"

Without bothering to reply, Sam grabbed the hilt of the angel blade. If he counted off, Dean would tense up and make this harder, so he simply wrenched the blade free in one fierce jerk without a second's warning. He winced at his brother's violent scream, already feeling guilty as Dean collapsed back to the floor with an even weaker groan.

But there was no time for that.

"Cas!" Sam shouted. "Catch!"

He pitched the blade towards his friend, a low underhand toss. Castiel reached out a hand towards him, not even taking his eyes off of Nimrod, who was still choking the life from him. In midair, the angel snagged the sword by the sharp bladed end, then flipped it around with practiced ease – then he struck.

With his angel blade in hand, Castiel never missed.

There was a choked grunt, a surprised sort of gurgle as Nimrod stared down at the angel. He weakly tried to turn his head, as though he'd be able to see the blade sticking through his neck. The Nephilim's mouth fell open; slowly, his eyes began to glaze as life fled from his body. Even as he died, though, he managed to cough out two words.

"Not… again…"

Then, with a thud, the lifeless body slid off of Castiel to hit the floor, and the room was left in silence.

It was over. Sam was gaping, breathing heavily. He couldn't believe it was finally done... and what they had nearly lost in the process. Cas was breathing heavily, sitting up as he stared at the dead Nephilim, and John was also pushing himself up off the floor dazedly. And Dean…

"Dean!" Sam gasped, turning back to his brother. He struggled out of his flannel shirt, hands shaking now with fear and adrenaline as he pressed the material into Dean's freely bleeding shoulder. "Dean, I'm sorry!"

"Aaaagh, I hate you," Dean grumbled, eyes closed tightly against the pain. "Damn it, Sammy… would it have _killed_ you to warn me first?"

"Hold still, you baby, it's just a scratch." Sam's hands shook harder as he forced a smile to his face, trying to pretend the blood wasn't already starting to soak through his makeshift bandage. Dean was trembling, shock and blood loss working their evil. If he lost much more blood, it would be too late. Sam swallowed in terror. "Dad!? A little help!"

"Dean…" Castiel stumbled towards them, falling down at the hunters' sides. "Sam, what are you talking about? This is much worse than a scratch." Frantically, he pressed two fingers to Dean's forehead… but of course, nothing happened.

Sam bit his lip, heart aching for their friend as Cas froze, then slowly lowered his hand, as though only now remembering just how handicapped his limited power was. The angel looked pale, dark bruises on his neck standing out but already starting to fade; a cruel, ironic reminder that he could only heal himself, not his friends. Beside them, John snorted impatiently and quickly shed his own outermost layer.

"Move, halo," he snapped. "Get out of the way, _we'll_ take care of him. Dean, hang in there. We have to stop the bleeding. Put some pressure on the one Sam's got. Sam, take this, press it onto the exit wound."

Dean swallowed hard, but forced a short laugh. "Oh this is my favorite part. Dad, you, uh... you don't have any whiskey on you by... by any chance, do you? And what took you guys... so long?"

Sam glanced at the angel, who was sitting back on his heels now, watching helplessly from the outside. There was nothing Cas could do as John pried one of the bullets from his chamber apart, carefully dumping the black powder inside into a strip of cloth from his pocket. Sam could see Castiel wince and look down in clear shame that he couldn't heal Dean. Sam hated that the angel was placing so much blame on himself, but they'd have to deal with that later.

Right now, Dean was their priority.

"Sam, we need your lighter," John reminded him shortly, holding out a flask to Dean. "Here, Dean… you're going to need a shot of this. Okay, Sam, move the shirt. We'll do the front first."

It wasn't the first time either of them had needed an emergency, last-resort cauterization, but Sam would never get used to it. He bit his lip, hating himself as he handed his dad the lighter and then held Dean firmly down, his gaze locking on his brother's. It was this or let Dean die, and that just wasn't an option. John sprinkled some of the powder on the still freely bleeding wound, flicked the lighter on, then nodded at Dean.

"Cheers," Dean grunted, taking a shot of the liquor and then closing his eyes, his free hand grabbing Sam's wrist weakly for what little comfort his brother could offer.

The cries of pain and stench of burning skin filled the night, and still Castiel could only look on with guilt and helplessness in his bright blue eyes.

SPN SPN SPN

It took John a long time to fall asleep that night, hypervigilance turning every creak and rustle into another attack from the Nephilim. He knew it was dead, and Dean would mend without a problem. They'd stopped the bleeding, Dean's shoulder was now cleaned and bandaged, and he'd passed out as soon as they'd gotten back to the car. All in all, they'd had _much_ worse, and he wasn't worried about his son recovering.

Still, it was difficult to relax, especially knowing that there was still a monster out there, sleeping right in the next room. One enemy was dead, but this didn't feel finished _._

It never had, though. There had always been another monster out there, always another job, always another hunt. John hadn't wanted to broach the subject of getting rid of the halo before Dean had gotten a chance to rest, and so he'd grudgingly allowed it to accompany them back to the motel.

It had its weapon back, too, and that was a setback. Unfortunately, there'd been no way around that. John had no doubt that the halo had only fought so hard in order to save its own skin, but at least it had been effective. Now, the halo's usefulness had expired, and John was going to have to figure out his next move, _before_ it betrayed his sons.

Sam, he was convinced, wasn't going to see reason. That boy would have brought _anything_ home just to spite him, though, just to satisfy his seemingly innate need to rebel. Dean, on the other hand… there was a chance Dean could be reasoned with.

And if he couldn't be convinced?

Well, he could always be ordered.

Finally, John fell into a fitful sleep, a frown still on his shadowed face. He dreamed once again of a bygone time, of his peaceful home with Mary… but once again, Mary herself wasn't there. Instead, a dark man stood by the fireplace, turning around and studying him with arrogant eyes as John approached.

"Who the hell are you? What are you doing here?" John demanded in the dream, gun already in hand.

The man didn't even flinch, paying no more heed to the weapon than he would a flea. "Hello, John Winchester," it greeted him, cold as a winter's night. "My name is Raphael. It's time we had a serious talk about Castiel."


	9. Chapter 9

_A/N: To my anonymous guest, thank you! :D_

 _It's been a while since I thanked Aini NuFire for her honesty and overall helpfulness as a beta-reader. I'm actually working on a short prequel to this fic right now that would show exactly what happened with Cas getting Sam out of the Cage, if anyone's interested in that being posted, but Aini has very patiently let me bounce ideas and about three different versions of the beginning off of her, so you'll have her to thank when it's done! ^_^_

 _And thanks to YOU, all you who've reviewed so far. The response to this fic has seriously made me so happy, it's worth every minute spent working on this :)_

 _Not that this story is quite over yet..._

* * *

 **Chapter 9 – In Which Dean Gets Three Cheers (Because Seriously)**

Blearily, Dean stepped outside, squinting and shielding his eyes from the far too bright morning sun. His shoulder was throbbing, the aspirin he'd taken barely touching it. Experimentally, Dean rotated his shoulder a bit. Nope, still stiff and sore. Nimrod had taken great pleasure in twisting the blade in an attempt to make him scream out for Cas.

Not that it would have done any good, really.

Where _was_ the angel? Dean turned to look around and nearly jumped out of his skin to see Cas seated on the bench outside the room, staring at him.

"Dammit, Cas," Dean grumbled, a hand on his chest. "What are you doing?"

Castiel quickly looked away, seeming uncomfortable with eye contact; that was weird, what was up with him?

"Keeping an eye out," he replied, barely audible. "I thought it was the least I could do, after…"

The angel trailed off, but Dean saw Cas's eyes flick to his bandaged shoulder. Dean glanced down as well, then up at Cas in confusion. "What, this? Why? It's not your fault. What's going on with you?"

Cas sighed. "I should have been able to stop him. He was supposed to come after _me_ , and… and I didn't even know he'd be able to fly away like that, you couldn't prepare properly because I didn't-"

"Uh, whoa," Dean cut him off. "Chill, it wasn't your fault. Actually, I meant to tell you… you all _did_ kill him, back in the day. He told me someone had brought him back, gave him some fancy new powers, so he probably _couldn't_ fly when you knew him before. Oh, and uh… he went after me 'cause I had your blade, so he figured I was an angel."

Dean snorted in laughter, rubbing his bandaged wound, but Cas frowned.

"Well," the angel pointed out distractedly, "this is the same Nephilim who tried to escape God in a 43 foot pile of dung. He never was very bright. He said someone brought him back? Who?"

"No idea," Dean replied with a shrug. "Think it was an angel? Could they do this?"

"Raphael could," Cas answered, looking away. "But why? Six humans were killed. Raphael is vengeful, not spiteful. He thinks big. He wouldn't go through the trouble for six humans in the middle of Idaho. This is troubling."

Again, Dean shrugged. Cas would know better than him, but the fact remained that _someone_ had raised the Nephilim, which meant there was likely a bigger enemy hiding in the background somewhere. Beside the hunter, Cas got to his feet, seeming tense and distracted. It was starting to bug Dean that the warrior angel wasn't really looking at him.

Before he could mention it, the door behind them opened to reveal both Sam and John. Though Dean's father seemed as gruff and cool as ever, Sam gave the two a quick smile.

"There you are," the younger hunter said. "Um… Cas, everything alright?"

"No. I'm going back to the house Nimrod was using."

"Whoa, what?" Dean asked, jumping to his feet. "Right now?"

"Yes, Dean. Something's wrong with all of this. I need to see if there's any signs of who brought him back or why." The angel looked away, seeming oddly smaller than usual. "I- I can do that much."

The hunter traded looks with his younger brother, before Dean shrugged. "Okay, well… I'll go with you."

"No," three voices instantly spoke out, making Dean glare at the others in exasperation.

"I'm not an invalid!" he snapped. "I think I can handle poking around an old house!"

Sam shook his head and set a hand on Dean's good shoulder. "Get some rest," he suggested. "I'll go with Cas."

"I need help cleaning the equipment," John spoke up, having remained mostly silent through the rest of the exchange. "Dean, stay here. Sam… watch your back."

"Dad, come on," Dean groused with a roll of his eyes. "Nimrod is _dead_ , they'll be fine."

John only cast a look at the angel, then turned back towards the room. "There are other monsters around. Dean, get in here."

"Kind of dramatic," Dean muttered under his breath. It wasn't like they weren't used to monsters. "Fine, have fun, you two."

Clapping Cas on the shoulder – not sure why the angel looked so pained – and giving Sam a slap on the back, Dean followed his father inside.

For a long while, they sat mostly in silence, duffels opened out onto the table as they went over all the weapons and stock, cleaning and maintaining everything they could.

"Dean," John finally said, eyes on the gun he was cleaning. "We need to talk."

Something in his tone made Dean sit up straighter, nodding as his expression turned blank, ready for orders. "Yes, sir?"

"About the halo."

Three words. Only three words, but Dean could feel his heart sink like the damn Titanic, and his father was the iceberg. There was absolutely no way this conversation was going to be a good one. Dean carefully avoided his dad's eyes, shoulders tensing.

"Oh, yeah?"

"It's got to go, Dean. Now, I've put up with it for this long because it _was_ useful in getting rid of Nimrod, but that's done. I'm not having it under my roof. Even if it's not as strong as the others, it's still too damn dangerous with that fancy sword-"

"Dad, stop."

John paused, hands falling still as he turned to Dean. The young hunter shook his head, looking away. Son of a bitch. Sammy had been right after all. Now John was waiting, the silence almost _daring_ Dean to argue, and normally he never would, wouldn't even consider it.

This time, though, it was different. It was _Cas_.

"Look, you _saw_ what a good fighter he is," Dean tried, grasping at straws. He hated himself for the completely false implication that Cas's fighting skills were the only reason to keep him there, but surely his dad could see that value.

"Yeah, exactly," John snapped, making Dean tense again at the impatience and the clear disapproval of his son's failure to blindly accept this. "It's only a matter of time before it turns on you! A rabid _dog_ is a 'good fighter', that doesn't mean you take it home and make it a pet!"

"A rabid-" Dean broke off, getting to his feet. His heart was racing, fists clenching and unclenching with the desperate attempt to bite his tongue and keep his temper in check. Had this been anyone but his father, he would have never shown such restraint; John would have been on the floor with a mouthful of broken teeth.

"That's all it is, Dean. How _dare_ you bring that thing into the fold!? What about your brother, did you even _think_ about the risk it puts him at as well? I trained you _better_ than this. What were you _thinking_?"

"Sam at risk?" Dean turned, staring at his father in disbelief. For a moment, he couldn't even speak, just mutely shook his head with a sharp exhalation of incredulity. "Sammy's been _at risk_ since he was born, and that 'rabid dog' saved our _lives_!"

"Hey, you'd better _watch_ your tone, boy!" John snapped, face coloring with anger that made Dean instinctively look away. "Now this thing is a monster, and I will _not_ have it endangering my family."

"We're already in danger!" Dean protested. "Dad, I _can't_ send him away. We owe Cas… _everything_." If only he could tell his dad the whole story… how Sam would have been trapped with Lucifer to be tortured for eternity, how he himself might very well have spent the rest of time as Alistair's star pupil. "He gave up his grace, his own family for us-"

"That's supposed to make it trustworthy? What's gotten into you? Dean, we're all we have and that thing is putting us at risk. How can you choose the monster over your _family_?"

"All you _ever_ did was choose monsters over your family!"

Dean hadn't meant to blurt out the words, hadn't even thought about it before speaking. In fact, until that very moment, he hadn't realized how true it was, or how long he'd been waiting to tell his father so. John only stared at him, eyes narrowing to a dangerous level of ire.

"Excuse me?"

"Yellow Eyes?" Dean asked, taking a step towards his dad, willing John to prove him wrong, _wanting_ his father to explain it all away. "The vengeful spirits, the vampires, the shifters… Sammy and me, all we wanted was for you to come home, but you wanted to go hunt things. We wanted to not be dumped at Bobby's, you wanted to go chase down a wendigo. We _wanted_ a family, Dad, and all _you_ cared about was the next hunt! You chose _them_ over _us_ , _EVERY_ damn time!"

"I was fighting them for _you_! I was _protecting_ you!"

"Yeah?! Like you were protecting Sammy when you told me I might have to _kill_ him!? What the _hell_ kind of a father does that?!"

John's eyes was nearly spitting lightning now, but it was too late to rein in the years of bitterness that Dean had never allowed to see the light of day. He took another step towards the older hunter, voice rising even higher as he gathered steam.

"Don't _talk_ to me about family, Dad! You know what I remember _most_ from you?! Waiting for you to come back every time you _ditched_ us in some shitty motel so you could go kill something else! Do you even _know_ the things I had to do to make sure Sammy didn't go hungry? You could have stopped _all_ of it, but you chose the monsters! So don't you _dare_ ask me to walk out on Cas. Leaving people behind is what _you_ do!"

"It's a _monster_ -"

"He's done more for this family than you could ever understand! When it was down to the wire, _Cas_ was _there_! Where the hell were _you_?!"

"I will _NOT_ have that thing near my family, _do you understand me_?!"

"I said NO!"

A long silence fell, Dean and John staring at each other in the wake of the younger hunter's tirade. John looked incensed; Dean felt only furious disbelief, that the angel he'd come to think of as one of them could be treated with such contempt from Dean's own _father_. His blood boiled in his veins, unable to believe what he was hearing. His dad wasn't even _listening_ … but when had he ever?

"This isn't up for debate," John said, breaking the silence in a voice so soft that it made Dean's pulse quicken warily. "I don't have to explain myself to you, Dean. As long as I'm the head of this family, that thing is _gone_ , do I make myself clear?"

Dean snorted, looking away as he rubbed his jaw. Everything in him was screaming in rage, so much anger that to control it this much was making him physically shake. He'd given John the benefit of the doubt. Hell, he'd _hit_ Sam for daring to accuse their dad of being exactly what he was showing himself to be. He'd defended John and he'd obeyed him without question, and he'd bitten his tongue for thirty years, but Dean was now at his absolute limit.

Yeah, John was _absolutely_ clear. The ultimatum was simple: him, or Cas.

"That _thing_ ," John said now with clenched jaw, "is the reason your mother is gone. That _thing_ almost destroyed the entire world. Now, it seems to trust you, so we can use that to our advantage. We can leave tonight after it's asleep, it wouldn't suspect anything. If the warding works, like you say, it won't be able to find us. We can leave it behind and get on with our lives, just the three of us… the way it's supposed to be. And Dean?" John's eyes hardened, and he took a step towards his son. "That's an order. When I give you an order, I don't expect arguing or questioning, I expect you to _obey_ it."

Slowly, Dean turned back to his father, meeting his gaze squarely. The storm within him had finally reached such a turbulence, so much thunder and fury, that he had become perfectly calm.

And with perfect calmness and ferocious rage, Dean took two steps forward and slammed his fist into John's cheekbone as hard as he possibly could.

As fast as John was, it was clearly the last move in the world he'd expected from Dean, and he had no chance to raise an arm to block the punch. Dean's right arm was out of commission, but his left hook was strong enough that John was knocked back into the wall, catching himself and whipping his head back to Dean in shock.

"That's what I think of your order," Dean informed him, a low, seething hiss. Part of him was already full of disbelief that he'd just done that – disbelief mirrored in John's shocked expression – but the rest of him couldn't even see straight. He turned, yanking his jacket off the chair so hard that the seat tipped and crashed to the ground. At the door, Dean stopped and spun back around.

"And don't _ever_ ask me to choose between you and Cas again!" he snarled, pointing an accusing finger at a still flabbergasted John. "Because I swear to God, you will _not_ like the answer!"

John didn't say a word, and Dean stormed out the door, slamming it closed behind him. Stomping down the steps and out into the road, heading anywhere but back to his dad, the hunter jerked his jacket over his wounded shoulder with barely a wince.

He felt cold, numb. This whole damn thing felt surreal, like he was just trapped in a nightmare. Had he just hit his dad? Sure, they'd exchanged knocks during training, but he'd _never_ lashed out in anger like that before, not towards John. But the thought of what his father was ordering him to do… to just pack up and _leave_ Cas there…

Dean's expression would have terrified any passersby from trying to talk to him, radiating fury as the images flashed before his mind: Castiel coming into their room the next morning to find them gone, perhaps trying to call and ask with such confusion where they were… Cas, waiting for them, maybe watching the clock in concern, but hopeful that they would return soon… eventually going out to look for them in futility…Cas's face when he finally realized that they had abandoned him and he was alone, cast out by yet another family that he'd trusted.

John thought they would _ever_ do that to him?! That they would repay his loyalty and devotion by sneaking off in the middle of the night, the angel never knowing where they'd gone or why he'd been left behind, like a forgotten sock that had fallen behind the bed?

Where the hell was Cas supposed to _go_?! He didn't even understand how to use a credit card, for crying out loud, he had nowhere to stay and no one to help him navigate the human world!

Dean was so furious and so distraught at the thought of all of this that his eyes burned with moisture, and he swore to himself once again that it would _never_ happen. Not as long as there was a breath in his body.

By God, he and Sammy would stick with Cas to whatever end.

SPN SPN SPN

"There's nothing," Cas murmured, staring around the broken down house. Sam looked up at him from the dusty photos he was sifting through, and his shoulders sagged at the hopelessness he heard. And yet, he knew it wasn't the lack of clues that was bringing his friend down.

"We'll figure it out, don't worry," he said. "Cas… what Dad said, about there being other monsters around, he didn't mean you."

There was a pause. Then, "Of course."

Except, they both knew John had absolutely been talking about him. Sam had seen it in the look his father had given Cas, the one that said "if you're smart, you won't come back" – the look that Dean had once again missed altogether. Sam hated that his father's tactics seemed to be working, and he hated the knowledge that eventually, something would have to give, and it wasn't likely to be John. But how prepared _was_ Dean for that eventuality?

"There must be an answer here," Castiel went on, full of quiet desperation. "I have to find it."

"Cas…" Sam sighed, putting the useless pictures back down. "I don't think we're going to find anything. The trail's gone cold-"

"No, Sam, I have to fix this! If I can't even do this… Sam, let's be honest, I'm _useless_ to you."

"What are you talking about?" He felt cold, heart heavy. "Come on… sit down, let's take a break."

"I don't need a break! I need to-" Cas broke off, collapsing onto the moth-eaten couch in a cloud of dust, burying his face in his hands. Even from across the room, Sam could see the angel trembling under the weight of too many emotions that he still wasn't used to dealing with.

"Sam," Castiel murmured into his hands. "You and I both know this isn't going to work. I can't come between you."

"Stop," Sam growled, crossing the room immediately to sit by the angel. "You stuck by us, we're sticking by you."

"You belong with your father," Cas argued. He didn't raise his head but Sam heard the despair, and the fear that he wasn't used to hearing from their angel. "I… I'll be fine on my own-"

"No!" Sam interrupted, wishing he could knock his dad into next week. "Look, I don't know what's going to happen, but we want you to stay. No matter what, okay? Cas… you saved my life. I don't even know how, but I know you must have gone through a lot, and there's no way I'm letting my dad or _anyone_ make you feel like you have to prove yourself in order to stay."

Finally, Cas did look up, but his words confused Sam: "When we got out of the Cage, you asked me to take your memories. Sam, you _begged_ me to do it, and after the things Lucifer did to you, your mind would have been _broken_ if I hadn't. You… you believe me, don't you?"

"What? Of course I believe you. Dean told me that from the start so I wouldn't try to remember."

"But you believe that?" Cas pressed, expression urgent. "You know I wouldn't interfere with your memories to manipulate you?"

Where was this coming from? Had his dad said something to that effect? Sam had never doubted; he could only imagine the horrors they'd both faced, and he didn't _want_ to remember. "I know you wouldn't," the hunter assured his friend. "I trust you. We both do."

Cas nodded, head finally raising. Their angel was still tense, still rigid, but at least he wasn't shaking anymore. Sam gave him a minute before climbing to his feet.

"Come on," he said. "Let's get out of here."

It took a minute, but Cas finally heaved a sigh and followed Sam out to the Impala. Neither of them spoke, and Sam didn't push him, as he started the car and turned it back towards the town. He was preoccupied with his own worries about how they were going to deal with John, so distracted that he almost didn't see Dean walking along the road until they'd nearly passed him.

"What the-" Sam slammed on the brakes, jarring both of them as they skidded to a stop. "Dean?"

Dean turned towards them, wearing a scowl so dark that Sam almost thought he'd been possessed. He stormed over to the idling car and jerked the rear door open, sliding in behind Sam and slamming it shut again without a word. For a moment, they sat in silence; Sam hesitated, meeting Dean's eyes in the rearview.

"Um…" he finally said uncertainly. "Everything okay?"

"Oh, everything's _great_!" Dean snapped almost before Sam had finished. "Had a chat with Dad."

In the mirror, Sam saw Dean's eyes flick to the back of Cas's head, and he didn't need to ask what the chat had been about… or how it had gone. He tensed, briefly glancing at Cas to gauge his reaction, but the angel was silent and withdrawn.

It was no surprise to Sam that John had wanted Dean to stay behind, the one less likely to fight him. Clearly things hadn't gone as John had intended, and despite the problem this was going to become, Sam was nearly overcome with relief. He could see Dean's opinion on the matter written clearly on his face, and he felt bad for having ever doubted Dean's loyalty to Cas.

After another pause, Sam asked, "So… where to?" Just how badly had this chat gone? Was it a 'drive around until things cool down', or a full blown Poughkeepsie sort of situation?

Dean scowled, meeting his gaze again. "The motel."

"Sam, you can let me off here-" Cas started, but Dean snapped,

"No way!"

He said nothing more, and Sam started to guide the Impala down the road. If this came to a clinch now, he was ready for it even though it broke his heart, as he knew it broke Dean's.

By the time they got back to the motel, the tension was so thick among the three that Sam was getting a headache. He could tell that Cas was ready to bolt, and Dean looked thunderous. Sam wondered just _how_ badly the chat had gone; at the same time, he really didn't want to know.

Since Dean seemed reluctant to lead the way, Sam headed the group towards the door, stepping into their motel room and slowing to a halt as he saw his father look up from the chair. A bright purple bruise graced his face. Dean had actually punched him? Sam was… impressed.

...And worried.

"Dean," he greeted him, for the moment focusing only on his oldest son. Sam wanted to step in front of his brother, but Dean pushed his way forward, lifting his chin. John's hooded eyes regarded him, flicking only briefly to the other two. Slowly, the older hunter got to his feet. "That was one hell of an argument you raised."

"Yes, sir." Dean's jaw was clenched, eyes straight ahead. Sam didn't dare say anything, and he felt Cas subtly shifting backwards like he still wanted to get as far away from all of this as possible. Again, John's eyes flicked towards them, then latched onto Dean once more.

"I guess…" John started, mouth twisting slightly like the words tasted bad. "If you feel _that_ strongly… maybe I was a little… hasty."

"Yes, sir."

Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. It wasn't like an actual apology, of course – John didn't ever really apologize for things – but was he actually changing his mind?! The hunter's heart clung to that thought like a lifeline, desperate for this to be real. Even if his dad couldn't _like_ their angel, was he at least going to drop the hostility and let them all stay together?

John looked at Castiel now, and while Sam wouldn't consider his expression particularly friendly, it didn't have the brutally hate-laden edge to it, either. Sam felt Cas straighten up as well, seeming to be warily leaning towards hope for a peaceful resolution to all this.

"Understand," John said, addressing their angel directly, "I don't have any reason to trust a halo, or to want one messing with my family. My boys have been through enough and if you _ever_ do a single thing to betray their trust… I will make you sorry. Is that clear?"

"Of course," Cas replied with equal gravity, sounding as surprised as Sam felt. Part of him wanted to snap at their dad that of course Cas wasn't going to betray their trust, but he knew that to be getting _this_ much was a miracle on its own.

Again, John regarded them all, not seeming exactly happy about all of this; his mouth twisted again in clear hesitation, but when his eyes met Dean's again, the older hunter's resolve seemed to harden. He nodded, then turned away.

"There might be a case in Michigan," he tossed out over his shoulder. "We should rest up, give Dean's arm as much chance to heal while we can. We leave tomorrow morning."

All three of them slumped back slightly with relief. Sam could hardly believe their luck – his brother's rebellion must have done the trick, in a way that his own had never managed to. Maybe because it was _Dean_ , who had never questioned a single order or decision that John had ever made. He glanced at Cas, smiling a bit to see the angel had closed his eyes, face finally smoothing out. The poor guy had clearly been much more afraid of having to leave than even Sam had realized.

But now, things were actually going to be alright, and Sam's heart was a thousand times lighter.

Had he been able to see John's face and the shadowed, murderous expression he wore, perhaps the hunter would not have been so willing to let his guard down.

Perhaps he would have been able to get their angel as far away from John as possible while they still had the chance.

* * *

 _Yup, this story is definitely not over yet._


	10. Chapter 10

_A/N: This might actually get over 100 reviews... seriously, I'm overwhelmed by y'all :) Thank you SO MUCH for the response and enthusiasm! You have NO IDEA how amazing it makes me feel! ^_^_

 _To WarWhales: hahaha, Raphael is definitely NOT living up to standard mythos. He's such a jerk! Thanks for reviewing :)_

 _Also, there's a bit of concept art I did for this chapter, it's on my deviantart account if you're interested. User name is the same, 29-pieces-of-me_

 _Now then, let's see how John responds to all this... the chapter title is a clue..._

* * *

 **Chapter 10 – In Which John is Frankly an Asshole**

Deep in slumber that night, the last thing in the world that Castiel was prepared for was the sudden deluge of something slick and noxious drenching him completely. He jerked awake, shooting up in the bed and then freezing instantly. John Winchester was standing over him, a lighter in his hand. Castiel stared at the flickering flame, then at the cold face looming above.

"Make a move, halo," John said, voice low and dangerous. "Make a sound, just one. Know what that is you're covered in? Holy oil. You do exactly what I say, or I throw the lighter and you're barbecue. Got it?"

Castiel worked his jaw, mind rushing to catch up. This wasn't a bluff. He could smell the oil, felt it dripping down his back now that he was sitting. He was coated in the mess, and that put him in a truly dangerous position. The angel's pulse quickened, but long millennia of schooling kept any emotion from his face. John had him trapped, and Castiel no longer doubted that he would actually ignite the oil if it came to it.

For a moment, he didn't understand. John had said they would all be able to work together… How could Castiel have _honestly_ believed that the hunter had had a change of heart?

"Got it?" John repeated as his icy but steady eyes bored into the angel.

Resisting at the moment would be an exercise in futility, and most likely suicide. For the moment, Castiel realized with resignation, his best bet would be to go along with John's demands. At least until the lighter was out of the picture. He nodded, heart sinking.

"Good. Get up – slowly. Move to the edge of the bed and put your blade on the floor."

John's voice was a low rumble – too low to wake his sleeping sons in the room next door, Castiel realized. His eyes flicked back to the flame, watching it warily as he slowly pushed himself towards the edge of the bed, a puddle of holy oil seeping from his clothes and onto the bedcovers.

Still moving as slowly and nonthreateningly as possible, Castiel allowed one arm to drop, his weapon sliding from within the recesses of his sleeve with practiced ease. He held his other hand up, palm out to show surrender, as the angel leaned over and set his blade carefully on the floor. He nudged it with his foot towards the human though it cost his heart another pang to do so.

The lighter never wavered as John hurried to snatch the sword up, tucking it into his own belt before digging into his pocket. There was a glint of metal, and then he tossed something into Castiel's lap. The angel looked down, frowning. John couldn't be serious…

"Cuff yourself," John growled, still not raising his voice. "In front, keep your hands where I can see them. Now."

It frustrated Castiel to no end that this would actually be enough to keep him restrained. The very idea of being trapped by a human should have been _laughable_ , only highlighting how far he'd fallen. His mouth twisted in displeasure, but he slid the metal bracelets around his wrists, tightening the ratchets into place.

"Now get down on the floor, halo. Slowly. One wrong move and you go up in flames."

The last thing in the world Castiel wanted was to be on the floor with John Winchester towering over him. Not when he knew just how much the human despised him, and not when that human was capable and willing to do some serious damage. He hesitated, contemplating his would-be captor. John's hooded eyes held nothing but threat and resolve. Obviously he was wary of getting too close, playing it safe by forcing him to the ground, which meant despite his frequent comments on the angel's uselessness, he wouldn't be making the mistake of underestimating Castiel. Odds of escape were getting slimmer.

The lighter danced dangerously closer, and Castiel stiffened. A low growl rumbled in John's chest, evidently angered that he was taking so long to comply.

Slowly, Castiel lowered himself down to sit on the floor of the dusty hotel, still not sure what John's endgame was.

"Why not just light it instead of waking me?" he asked, his own voice dark and gravelly with defeat. "Why go through all this first? Unless…"

Castiel's gaze flitted over to the wall that separated his room from the Winchesters'. He swallowed, imagining Dean running in at the sound of a commotion, only to see his charred remains, the ashes of his already shredded wings forever burned into the worn sheets and hotel walls.

He could never allow Dean or Sam to go through that.

"Because my sons have gotten soft," John snapped, confirming the angel's suspicion. "Not another word from you!"

Castiel couldn't bite back a gasp as something solid slammed jarringly into his cheekbone. His head hit the leg of the bedpost behind him, pain erupting like fire through his skull and radiating down his neck. The angel barely had time to collect himself before John kicked him again, hard. This time, Castiel hit the floor. His ribs screamed at the treatment, but he choked back any sound of agony. John was on top of him, pinning him flat on his back with a knee thrust into his chest to keep him still. The other knee was digging into one of Castiel's bound arms, preventing him from even the slightest chance of pushing the hunter off of him.

"Wh- mmph!"

The flame from the lighter had disappeared, but that hardly mattered now, and Castiel wrinkled his nose at the taste of the rag that had just been stuffed into his mouth. It tasted like automobile; combined with the stench of oil that still filled the room, Castiel was getting a very human urge to vomit. Shaking his head, the angel fought to dislodge the offending cloth.

"Mmph!"

"I said, _shut up_ ," John growled, voice still terrifyingly calm. There was nothing calm about the sudden backhand he dealt the angel, though, snapping Castiel's face to the side and leaving him dazed. The rag tightened, pulled deeper into his mouth as John took advantage of his disorientation to tie it off, silencing him.

In the fog that swam through his mind, Castiel felt his heart sink heavily at the betrayal, even if he should have seen it coming. John Winchester, he was now convinced, had every intention of killing him. The father of his best friends, the man that he would have done anything to protect, was going to murder him in cold blood.

Because he, Castiel, was a monster, and had no place with these humans.

The heaviness in his heart, though, came from a deeper truth that destroyed him much more surely than the ignited holy oil would. The fact was… John was right.

He _was_ a monster, not really an angel, not really a man.

And certainly not a Winchester.

So Castiel didn't fight him, didn't move as a heavy rope was wrapped around his wrists to reinforce the cuffs, more evidence that the hunter was going to leave nothing to chance. Castiel wondered if John would even tell Dean and Sam what he'd done, or if the angel's disappearance would forever be a mystery. Hopefully, the boys would move on with their lives and not dig too deep. They could enjoy having their father back, without him being in the way.

"Get up."

There was a violent tug, and Castiel brought his awareness back to the moment. John had left a long length of rope attached to his wrists, using it as a makeshift lead so that he could stay a safe distance away from the angel, and the lighter was back in his hand to dissuade Castiel from resisting. John gave the rope a hard yank so that Castiel had to scramble to his feet, arms pulled forward.

With another tug, they began to move back towards the door, and Castiel didn't have much choice but to follow. The angel grunted into the gag, piqued at being led around like a dog on a leash. Besides, the stench of oil was now wafting past his nostrils all the stronger, a reminder that the hunter need only throw the lighter, and Castiel was dead.

When they emerged into the night, Castiel's eyes flicked once more to the door next to his. He was only gagged with a simple rag; perhaps he could still make enough noise to attract Dean and Sam's attention, as light of sleepers as they were.

"One peep out of you…"

The threat hung heavy in the air, as the hunter evidently guessed his mind. The lighter bobbed ever closer towards the rope that John was dragging him along with, and Castiel quickly dismissed the idea of trying to wake them. He wouldn't get his friends involved in this. He wouldn't put them in the position where they would have to choose between him or their own father. Partly because such a move would be cruel of him.

Partly because Castiel couldn't bear the thought of Dean and Sam allowing him to be taken away, even though he knew they _should_ choose their father.

Swallowing, Castiel let the hunter force him towards the Impala, heart twisting at the thought of being held prisoner in the same car he'd spent so much time in with Dean and Sam.

John clearly couldn't care less, opening the passenger door and winding the rope around his hand so that Castiel was reeled in like a fish on a line. Permitting the bigger man to push him into the front seat, Castiel held still as John threaded the lead around the grab bar over the glove box, pulling it tight and tying it off so that his hands would be safely unable to reach the hunter while they drove.

Again, taking no chances, Castiel thought morosely as the door slammed. He waited, tense, as John's heavy treads made their way around to the driver's side. Not that Castiel would have attacked the eldest Winchester even had he not been restrained. He would look for an avenue of escape, but he couldn't do any lasting harm to John Winchester. This was still Dean and Sam's father.

With the foul tasting gag in, Castiel couldn't say much, but he wasn't in the mood for talk as they started off down the road, away from his friends. His mind continued to race, considering his options. The oil, still moist and fully flammable, posed a major problem, unless he could get far enough away from John that the human couldn't use his lighter. If only he could _fly_ , Castiel thought with an infuriated grunt, as he tugged furtively on his restraints. They didn't give, and that infuriated him all the more, but it was fury colored with despair.

"Don't bother," John said from the driver's seat, eyes on the road and lighter in hand, unlit but posed warningly. "You're not going anywhere."

Castiel turned his head, but the hunter probably saw the defeat anyway, as he had seen every single other flaw in the angel.

"I told you, I know what you are," his captor continued, as steady and cool as ever, like he wasn't kidnapping an angel and probably just looking for a good place to dump the body. "You're nothing but a monster. I still don't know _how_ you've fooled Sam and Dean for this long, but it doesn't matter anymore. They weren't ever going to get rid of you, so _I_ will. I'm not having something like _you_ threatening my family."

The angel could have attempted at least a muffled protest, but didn't bother. He sat rigid, externally stoic but internally, he was already burning away. _Monster… won't have you threatening my family…_ The family that Castiel should never have let himself believe he was a part of. Castiel had no family, nowhere to go, no one to turn to. Even if he could escape from John, he could never go back to Dean and Sam now, not without causing more problems for them with the older hunter.

John was their _father_. Castiel was just a fallen angel who could do them no good anymore. There was no competition, no debate of who ought to be with them, since clearly co-habitation was utterly out of the question, despite John's previous assurance that he could stay.

Loneliness and an icy, devastating sense of loss nearly stole Castiel's breath. A dejected shudder ripped through his tense form but he continued to stare dully out the window at the darkened trees flashing past.

What could have been more isolating and more terrible than the knowledge that there was no place for him in all of Creation?

"There's nothing I wouldn't do for my boys," John went on, though Castiel wasn't sure why he was bothering. There was no need to explain. "Nothing I wouldn't do to protect them. If that means getting rid of you, don't think I'm even going to hesitate. I have the archangel's guarantee they'll stay away from Sam and Dean if I give them you, which takes care of _both_ my problems."

Wait, he had _WHOSE_ guarantee?!

Castiel stiffened, then spun back to face John with eyes wide over the gag. The archangel! John was taking him to Raphael?! _That_ was the plan!? Fear lit a fire in the angel, and he began to struggle in earnest now.

"Nn! Yhhmmn!" Damn it! How could he communicate to John what a terrible mistake he was making!? Terror was building in Castiel's chest, threatening to explode. Not for himself, but for Dean and Sam, even for John. Had this been the plan all along?! How could Castiel have been so stupid, who else could have revived the hunter if not Raphael!?

The angel jerked violently on the rope fastening him to the car, fighting to break free. Desperation and panic began to cloud his mind. He _had_ to warn John of the danger.

Beside him, though, John was unmoved but to suddenly flick the lighter back to life, arm swooping out to hover only inches from his captive. "Hold still and shut up," he advised coldly, glaring at Castiel. The angel had no choice but to press back as far into the corner as he could, wary eyes fixated on the flame. "I'd rather not make a mess in the car, but I will if you make one more move."

Again, the thought of Dean forced to see his wing-prints brought Castiel to a screeching halt. Not in the Impala, which the human held such an odd love for. Castiel slumped down, giving up. After a moment, the threatening flame finally retreated, but Castiel didn't move.

John nodded. "Good boy," he said. The condescension grated at Castiel. "We're almost there."

With nothing else to do, the angel continued to watch the trees flash by, his mind now clouded with a terrible sense of helplessness that he could barely stand. Perhaps he could have found a way to escape John Winchester; he would not escape Raphael. And then who would protect his humans? No matter what assurances Raphael had given, Castiel didn't trust him for a second.

He didn't look up again until the car came to a halt, gravel crunching underneath the tires as John shifted into park and turned to Castiel. "Hold still," he warned yet again, before getting out and moving swiftly around to open the passenger side door. Castiel didn't move, but he fought to catch the hunter's eye as soon as John was level with him.

"Hnnhn," he tried to say into the gag, holding his hands up in their bound position. John paused, staring at him. Castiel maintained eye contact, tilting his head slightly to indicate that he wanted the rag taken out of his mouth, at least for a moment.

Fortunately, the hunter seemed to understand. He reached out, jerking the gag free as he demanded, "What?"

It took a second for Castiel to moisten his dry mouth again enough to talk at all, grimacing at the foul, oily taste the rag had left behind. "John," he rasped, knowing his captor's patience wouldn't last long. "What did the archangel tell you?"

"Enough," John replied shortly. His eyes narrowed in distrust, and he moved as though to stuff the rag back in. Castiel shied back, shaking his head with a sense of impending urgency.

"Listen to me. Raphael cannot be trusted," he growled. "What did they tell you?! That they'd leave Dean and Sam alone? Raphael will _never_ stop until he has his vengeance, he won't be satisfied with killing me."

"We have a deal."

Castiel wanted to scream in frustration. His jaw clenched, as did his bound hands, but he knew that losing his temper now would only encourage John to get rid of him. His own fate didn't matter anymore, though; it wasn't like he had anywhere to go, or anything to do, or anyone who would take him in now. Though his heart tore itself to pieces at that thought, it wasn't the more pressing issue.

"You _cannot_ trust him," he tried again, voice picking up speed and volume. "How can you see me and my kind as monsters, yet make a deal with one?"

"Because," John retorted, pulling the angel blade out now and pressing it close to Castiel's throat as he deftly untied the lead from the grab bar. "He's not the one who's twisted his way into my sons' lives. Get up."

"But you-" Castiel was cut off with a grunt as John simply yanked hard on the lead and stepped backwards, dragging Castiel out of the car to sprawl on the ground. He hadn't realized just how weakened he was from the lack of eating, and now he was sorely regretting his stubborn decision to abstain as though he was still a full angel. With nothing but human strength, he was ludicrously outmatched by John Winchester.

The gravel rocks dug into Castiel's knees, biting into him through his trousers as he struggled to get up before John could jerk the rope again. He got to unsteady feet, eyeing the hunter warily, as well as the angel blade now extended towards him in clear threat. Castiel understood the unspoken directions to maintain his distance, and he didn't bother to try pulling away.

"I don't need to explain myself to you," John informed him as he began to walk, the slack in the rope quickly growing taut. Castiel followed, his bound wrists pulling him forward, though his footsteps were sluggish with reluctance.

"Raphael _will not_ let Dean and Sam escape-"

"Quiet."

They lapsed into silence. Castiel finally realized that they had come full circle, back to the old power plant where he and John had first encountered each other. Castiel's chest ached with the phantom pain of the stab wound, so much more potent than when Dean had tried the same move so long ago. The thought of Dean only made the ghost wound throb harder, or perhaps that was just his stricken heart as Castiel wished with bitter regret that he could have at least bidden his friends goodbye.

"I still have half a mind to beat them senseless," John suddenly grunted, tugging the rope lead. Even among the shadows obscuring his face, Castiel could see John's expression darken. "Here I am, cleaning up their messes again. I trained them better than this. Their _stupidity_ , taking in a monster like you…" He shook his head, jerking Castiel forward with a vicious tug as they made their way deeper into the plant. "I swear, sometimes they don't have a brain between them."

Ire rose within Castiel at the insult to his friends. Family was supposed to stick together, hadn't John been the one to preach that to his sons to begin with? And yet, he would say such things of his own children? Even if they were just words spoken in anger, even if he didn't even mean them, how could he excuse such a thing to himself?!

The angel, who had been trying so hard for so long to avoid saying anything to get on John's bad side for the sake of his friends, couldn't bite his tongue any longer. There was nothing he could say in defense of himself, not when John's words rang with truth, but the remarks on Dean and Sam were more than he could take.

Coming to a sudden halt, tugging back on the rope lead he was on, Castiel growled with pointed accusation, "It's true, I have made mistakes, many of which affected Dean and Sam. But I'm not the only one they deserved _better_ from."

John moved like lightning, grabbing the lapels of Castiel's trench coat and slamming him hard into the crumbling brick wall, hard enough that the angel felt some of the bricks give. The angel blade pressed deeply up under his chin, forcing his head back, as John snarled, "I am their _father_."

Castiel's eyes narrowed, ignoring the menacing threat unveiled in the hunter's cold gaze as he retorted, "Exactly."

He saw the strike coming, but had no way of defending himself against it. The hilt of his own blade crashed into his head, leaving him dazed as he was beaten down to the ground. The angel gritted his teeth against the pain, biting back any sound as John's boot caught him in the stomach, hard. Castiel could only curl in on himself, struggling just to breathe.

"No more talking," John snarled from somewhere above him, and then the rag was being harshly stuffed back into his mouth. "Get up, move it."

Castiel winced through the blood dripping down his forehead as he was dragged back up by the wrists, forced on as John yanked the rope to move him under a staircase that still seemed relatively sturdy. The hunter was looking murderous as he threw the rope lead over the rail of the catwalk above them. When he caught the other end, he pulled hard so that Castiel's arms were hoisted up in the air, forcing the angel to stand up as straight as he could.

"Even the other monsters want you dead," John told Castiel coldly as he tied the lead off to the lower rail, trapping the angel in place. "And I'm not letting you take my sons down with you. Now stay here and be quiet while I call the archangel."

The captive angel felt like he'd been stabbed with his blade, staring mutely at John with crushed disbelief. He _knew_ that his family wanted to kill him, but the hunter said it so callously, so matter of fact, and it killed Castiel with the truth of it all.

So why was he even bothering to fight? There was no point, no point to any of this, and Castiel slumped, arms stretching taut over his head at the movement. Raphael would be overjoyed to find him like this. _Maybe_ he would be merciful enough to hold up his end of whatever agreement had been made, and leave the Winchesters alive. That… that would be worth it.

The angel closed his eyes. His throat tightened as he mentally whispered an apology to Dean and Sam.

A light flashed, bright enough that Castiel could see it even with his eyes closed, and then a voice: "Well, what do we have here?"


	11. Chapter 11

_A/N: Thanks as always, you lovely people!_

 _WarWhales: Hahaha, sorry, I'm bad about cliffies... I would assure you that this one isn't a cliffhanger, but... well, it'd be a lie... sorry..._

 _Guest: LOL, definitely bad words being thrown at John o.O That's okay, I think most everyone will agree with you though ^_^_

 _Deactivated123476: Thank you so much! :D I'm honored! ^_^_

 _other Guest: Haha, you're not the only one who's mentioned Gabriel, and he WOULD be an awesome addition to any story! I think big brother Gabriel would be all kinds of bad juju to John for messing with Cas._

 _Moving on, let's take care of that little cliffhanger you were left on..._

* * *

 **Chapter 11 – In Which Castiel Tells His Story**

"Well, what do we have here?" Dean's face was a cold mask as he turned the high powered flashlight beam out of Cas's eyes, directing it at John instead. He and Sam stalked forward slowly, and it was all the furious hunter could do not to pull his gun and shoot John right in the leg. Wounded shoulder be damned, he _would_ take his dad down right here and now! Especially when he saw the obvious defeat in the angel's slumped and bruised form, the fact that John had _gagged_ him and strung him up like a piece of meat!

"Dhnn! Smnm!" Cas's eyes snapped open at the sound of Dean's voice, blue gaze full of panic. He looked up at his bound hands, trying to tug them free with a renewed sense of urgency.

"It's gonna be okay, Cas," Dean growled, moving closer as John watched him with shadowed eyes. "Sammy, when this is over, remind me that I owe you an apology and a free shot for the one I gave you. Guess you were right."

"Wish I hadn't been," Sam said, circling closer towards their bound friend as well. "You should have turned his cell phone off, Dad. We found him the same way we found Dean."

"Did you think I'd sleep through the Impala driving off?" Dean demanded. "You trained me _better_ than that, remember? We figured it out as soon as we realized you and Cas were both missing. Now let him go!"

"Dean-"

"As in _now!_ " Dean's eyes flashed, having never known such betrayal and fury. He'd fallen for it, the idea that it would all be okay and they'd all get along together. As angry as he was with John, he was just as angry with himself. How could he have been so stupid? Wait- was that _blood_ on Cas's face?! "You son of a bitch! What did you do to him?!"

John held out a hand, frowning. "What I had to," he growled. "Back down, both of you."

Dean shook his head. "Oh, I don't think so!"

"Dad, Cas is our _friend_ ," Sam snapped. They continued to prowl closer, while Cas's eyes darted between the three. "We're not going to let you _kill_ him!"

"I said, back down. It's nothing but a monster, and I'm going to do my job!"

"He's not a monster!" Dean argued heatedly. "Cut him loose!"

"Oh, it's not? You think this thing doesn't have human blood on its hands?" John turned to his captive, the point of the blade resting on Cas's chest, and Dean's heart nearly stopped. "Ever kill a human, halo?" John demanded. "How many? How many have you killed, huh?"

Cas obviously couldn't answer, not with the rag stuffed in his mouth, but the beaten, agonized expression said it all. John snorted, shaking his head as he pressed the blade more insistently so that Cas couldn't help but wince, trying to step back but unable to.

"That's what I thought," John snapped. "It kills humans, and that's the only reason I need."

"We _all_ have blood on our hands!" Dean snarled as he took a step closer, moving out wide. He could see Sam slowly coming in from the other side, out of sight of John, as long as Dean could keep their father talking. "He doesn't deserve this, do you have any idea what Cas has been through, to _protect_ humans!? To protect _us_?! Cas is part of this family and I'm _not_ going to let you hurt him!"

"It will _never_ be part of this family!"

Sam was in position now, to the wide left on John's blind side. There was no need for Dean to give him a signal; his brother knew just what to do, and he rushed in without a word in the hopes of tackling John away from their angel so that Dean could dash in and cut him free.

But John wasn't known as one of the world's greatest hunters for nothing. He seemed to have been anticipating an attack, and he turned with the speed of years of skill. He was a blur, grabbing Sam and spinning to help the younger hunter's momentum carry him straight into the wall behind them. Sam hit with an ugly thump and a crack of bricks, and when he fell to the floor, he didn't stand back up.

"Damn it, Sammy," John whispered, wincing in what was probably regret, but nothing would ever absolve him from that. Dean took another step forward, gun whipping out now, and in that moment he was prepared to use it. Just when he'd thought his father couldn't possibly let him down any worse.

"You _son of a bitch_!" he shouted, trying to shut out Cas's stricken face as the angel stared at the downed Sam. "You _ever_ lay a hand on either of them again, and I'll send you back to Heaven myself, do I make myself clear!?"

John gave him a look, mouth twisting down. "I didn't want it to go like this, Dean. You weren't supposed to follow us. I know you don't understand right now, but I'm doing this for _you_ , you and Sammy."

Dean ignored this tripe, eyes flicking briefly down to his brother, watching worriedly for the tell-tale signs of his breath. Surely their dad had been careful not to be too forceful, surely he wouldn't have seriously hurt Sam. The hunter's jaw clenched, stomach tightening until he saw Sam's chest rise and fall. Thank God.

"Bullshit," he growled, moving closer to Cas. "Now for the last time, _untie Cas_ , I'm not fooling around-"

He shouldn't have taken his eyes off of his father, even for the few seconds it'd taken to check on Sam. By the time Dean looked back at John, it was too late to duck; the hilt of Cas's blade slammed into his temple, and everything went black.

SPN SPN SPN

Castiel watched in horror, frozen and speechless. Dean was curled on the floor beside Sam, both of them with their eyes closed. He was certain they would recover without a problem, but the fact that their own father had knocked them out cold was worrisome, to say the least. Even John had finally let an expression of sorrow slip through his stoic mask, standing over his two sons as he shook his head.

"I wish you hadn't made me do that," he murmured, heaving a sigh. "This is for your own good. I'm sorry, boys."

He sounded like he meant it, though the angel knew his regret was only for hurting _them_. John looked up at him now with a glare that could have rivaled Raphael himself. "You see what you've done?" the hunter snapped. "This is on _you_ , halo! You should have left them alone! Now I've probably lost them both, and I'll _never_ forgive you for that."

He leaned over towards the two unconscious boys, digging another pair of cuffs from his pocket; clearly, he'd been anticipating the possibility that they would try to stop him, and Castiel knew with sadness that John wouldn't be dissuaded. He could only watch helplessly as the hunter cuffed Sam and Dean together, passing the cuffs through a metal wheel that had once controlled a pressure valve, carefully making sure to move only Dean's left arm.

This was the end. Castiel had broken another family apart; this was his fault. The angel had been unable to believe his ears when Dean and Sam had fought so fiercely for him. He'd been certain that they would of course choose John, if it really came down to it, but his friends had come for him. Now, his emotions were torn in two. On the one hand, he felt a deep and terrible guilt for what he'd caused. On the other, a weary content, a peace from knowing that his friends had been true to the end.

"That archangel," John said now, checking the cuffs and standing back up. "It said you'd turn them against me. You know, I didn't believe it, at first. I was even willing to let you live in spite of what you are, as long as you left us alone. But I'll be damned if the archangel wasn't right all along. It said to call as soon as I realized that."

The hunter's face was cold as he walked back towards Castiel, who was now subtly trying to pull the rope free to no avail. He paused as John came to a stop only inches away. "So as far as I'm concerned," John finished, "the archangel can have you."

"No…"

Both Castiel and John looked towards the two boys as Dean's weakened voice drifted across the broken down power plant. His head lolled slightly, clearly dazed, and he didn't try to sit up from where he lay curled on the floor.

"Please… Dad… you can't…"

Castiel's heart tore, and he turned to John once again, pushing his chin out and mumbling into the gag to signal he wanted to say something. John eyed him suspiciously, but surprisingly jerked the cloth free.

"John," Castiel murmured heavily as soon as he was able. "Not here. Please. I'll go with you, I won't fight, but please not here. If Raphael finds Dean and Sam like this… you can't trust him. Perhaps he won't pursue them, but if he sees them, he _will_ kill them, no matter what agreement you might have. Even if you don't believe me, why take that chance with your sons' lives?"

"Cas… Cas, no…"

The angel swallowed, trying to tune out Dean's voice, focusing entirely on John. The hunter still looked suspicious, but he glanced back at his two sons with a thoughtful frown. The seconds ticked by, before he finally grunted,

"Fine. But you try anything funny, and I'll run you through myself."

Castiel nodded willingly, closing his eyes with relief. If the last thing he ever did was to keep Dean and Sam safe for just a little bit longer, then he would rest easy – besides which, he didn't want them to have to see this. True to his word, he made no attempt to fight free as John untied the lead rope from the rail, letting the angel pull his arms down to the relief of his aching shoulders.

"Dad!" Dean groaned, shifting a bit now as he started to wake up slowly. "Dad, no… they'll _kill_ him- Dad! Wait, just wait!"

"I'm sorry, Dean," John muttered as he gave the rope a yank, dragging Castiel forward. The angel spared one last glance towards his friends, wishing Dean had stayed unconscious so as not to witness this. His eyes met Dean's once more, and Castiel's heart grew heavy. There was no time for goodbye.

"No… Cas!" There was a rustle, as Dean stiffly tried to reach out for him, trapped at the valve. "Dad, wait! Ask him! Ask him how he lost his grace! Wait… _wait!_ Cas, _NO! CAS!_ "

The heavy metal door slammed closed behind them as John pulled Castiel out into the night, shutting off the sound of Dean's shouts. Castiel swallowed hard, but he raised his chin, determined to face this with as much honor as he had left. Dean and Sam's steadfast loyalty had given him that much strength, and he followed John to the car and let the hunter stuff him inside once again before taking off down the road.

Neither of them said a word. When Castiel looked over at John, the hunter was sitting stiffly, jaw clenched and brow creased with actual emotion. Though the angel knew John was making a terrible mistake, he also realized that his motives as a father were genuine. Clearly, he _did_ want what was best for Dean and Sam, but his ability to discern what that actually was had been utterly ruined the day he'd lost his wife, and his mind.

Sighing, the angel twisted slightly in his seat. "John-"

"I don't want to hear _anything_ from you."

"You need to. You need to take me somewhere far away, _please_. It doesn't matter where, but far from here. Then… tie me up and leave me there, but wait to tell Raphael where I am until you're long gone. Get back to Dean and Sam, get them out of there, and escape while you can, as far away from me as possible."

"So you have time to worm your way free, of course."

"No." Castiel sighed, looking at the simple rope that kept him bound and shaking his head. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm dead anyway. But you don't have to be. Raphael _used_ you to get me, and once you deliver me to him, he won't need you anymore. He'll send you back to Heaven."

John snorted, turning to the angel. "And why would you care about me escaping? I'm supposed to believe you'd offer your help, just for me?"

"No, not for you. I don't like you." Castiel shrugged, seeing no reason to lie on that score. John only raised an eyebrow, and the angel looked away. "But it's what's right. And Dean and Sam deserve to have their father back."

There was no reply to that, and they drove on in silence. Castiel didn't know if John was going to take his advice or not, but he hoped he would. He didn't want to push his luck, and so didn't say anything as the hunter pulled the Impala to a stop beside another of the ramshackle barns that stood lonely in the countryside.

John's presence felt more troubled as he got out of the car, walked around, and jerked Castiel's door open. This time, instead of dragging him out onto the ground, the hunter stepped back with the taut lead in hand, waiting for him. The angel slowly shifted himself outside, arms pulled forward slightly by the rope. He trudged behind John into the barn, each footstep feeling like the final judgment.

The barn door creaked and moaned as it slowly swung inwards under John's firm push, landing with a dull thud against the inside wall. The angel swallowed, looking around the dusty place, then following John willingly inside. His bound hands formed fists, but he had given his word to come quietly, to save Dean and Sam.

Still, it went against every instinct to let the hunter maneuver him over to a dark corner, still smelling of hay long since molded. John had the angel blade in hand again, resting it on Castiel's shoulder at the base of his neck. Obediently, the angel knelt down, eyes glued warily to John.

"I just have one more question, halo," John grunted as he quickly tied the rope to the lowest rung of a gate that had once kept a horse in its stall. It prevented Castiel from standing up, but this was preferable to waiting for who knew how long with his arms stretched over his head.

"Yes?"

Finished, John stood, looming over the angel with the blade sliding along to the front of his throat, forcing Castiel's chin up.

"…How did you lose your- your grace, or whatever?" the hunter asked, almost grudgingly. "Why do they trust you so much? What did you do? Dean has never refused an order, but he wouldn't leave you behind. I want to know why."

Dean had refused to go without him? For a moment, Castiel was silent, a sense of warmth offering him a bit of comfort. The angel knew better than anyone how difficult defiance could be, and from Dean – his friend – that meant everything. Then, he sighed and closed his eyes. With the blade still settled at his throat, he asked roughly,

"What did Dean tell you about how Lucifer was put back in the Cage?"

"Only that you three pushed him in," John snapped. "Hardly good enough reason-"

"Then he didn't tell you about Sam."

Silence fell over the barn. Castiel opened his eyes once more to John's suspicious gaze. "When Lucifer fell back in," he said cautiously, "Sam… Sam was pulled in with him. In fact, Sam _jumped_ in, taking the Devil with him. It was incredibly brave, sacrificing himself to save the world."

"Sammy was in the Cage… with _Lucifer_?" John's face was a stoic mask, but there was enough of a flicker in his voice and eyes that Castiel could tell he was fully aware of what an eternal nightmare such a fate would be.

"Yes," the angel replied, unable to nod safely. "Trapped with no way out. Sam could have passed the walls of the Cage, being human; it was only intended to hold in an angel's power… but even if Lucifer had let him go, he would have still been stuck in Hell, _physically_. There was no escape for him, and Lucifer…" Castiel swallowed, his throat bobbing against the point of his own blade as he winced. The memories of his brother's insane rage still terrified him. "He was… very angry. He tortured Sam to the point of insanity. Any lesser man would have been broken forever."

"Then how is he here?!" demanded John. "If there was no way out?"

Again, Castiel met his gaze squarely and took a deep breath. "I... I went in after him," he answered, voice falling into a ghostly, dulled murmur. "Getting into the Cage… it's not really so hard. I found Lucifer-"

He shuddered, feeling the dark archangel's tendrils of shadow and evil wrapping around him again, binding him more surely than the rope John had used. He could still hear Lucifer's crooning whispers in his ear, telling Castiel every single way that he was going to kill him. He could still see Sam, broken, bound, all but lost for good.

"I managed to escape with Sam," Castiel finished softly. "I removed his memories of the Cage, at his request-"

"Then you _can_ influence their minds!" John's face grew colder, the blade pressing in deeper. "You could take or _give_ any memories you wanted!"

"I took his memories because he would be dead now if I hadn't," Castiel retorted. "It is true, angels possess the power to influence a human mind, and… and it's true that some of the more corrupt ones have done so. But I did what I had to do to save Sam's life, and I would do it again. You have _no idea_ what Lucifer did to him, what he did to _us_ -"

The angel gasped slightly. He couldn't allow his memories to start down that path, knowing that he might well face the same fate in Raphael's clutches. Hopefully, though, Raphael would actually kill him for good in the end. Castiel looked away.

"Sam knows that I removed memories from him, and Dean supported it completely. You asked how I lost my grace. I had to cut most of it out in order to leave the Cage. After that, there wasn't enough grace left to protect my wings from the Hellfire… they burned away when I flew him out of Hell. I gave up everything that I was to save him. There was just enough power left to erase Sam's memories of his ordeal, and now… as you said, I don't have much more than my blade and a light show."

John snorted, looking satisfied. "Guess you weren't counting on _that_ when you jumped in."

"On the contrary." Castiel met John's eyes one final time, grim and resigned. "The Cage was designed to contain one of the strongest of all the archangels. The walls are as strong as whoever is trying to leave. I knew from the start that the only way out again would be to weaken myself by cutting out my grace. That's why Lucifer can't get out. It requires a sacrifice that he will never make, to become like the humans he despises."

He paused, then added quietly, "Sam doesn't remember that. When you find them again… please don't tell him. I don't want him to feel responsible in some way."

The silence stretched long after he'd finished his story, though he didn't expect it would make a difference. John was staring at him, a frown on his face. The hunter slowly shook his head.

"I don't understand," he said, not moving the blade away from Castiel's chin. "I've been remembering a lot about halos from what I learned in Heaven. There's no way one would give up any of its power. Why would you?"

That question was a far easier one to answer. Castiel's blue eyes sparked briefly, almost defiantly, as he squarely held John's gaze and replied,

"Because. Being Dean and Sam's friend… is more important than being an angel."

Silence reigned once more. John continued to stare, his frown deepening. Whatever was going through his mind was utterly unreadable to Castiel, the hunter's expression inscrutable. Slowly, a centimeter at a time, the angel blade fell away from Castiel's throat. The two regarded each other for a long moment, before John finally dropped his arm completely.

"That's all I wanted to know," he said simply; then he reached out and pushed the gag firmly back into Castiel's mouth, taking the angel by surprise. Castiel couldn't stop the flash of fear from his face as he realized that the hunter still wasn't going to cut him loose, though he hadn't truly expected otherwise.

"Jnn!" he tried to protest, wanting to remind the hunter again that he needed to be _far_ away before he gave up Castiel's location to the archangel, but it was too late. John had already grabbed a mildewed tarp that was rotting in the corner, throwing it over the angel.

"I'd be quiet if I were you," John told him. Castiel listened numbly as the eldest Winchester's heavy treads stepped away from him into the center of the barn.

His last thoughts were for Dean and Sam, as John called out resolutely, "Raphael!"


	12. Chapter 12

_A/N: First of all, OH MY GOSH, if you want to see a far superior bit of fanart for this fic, please look up pajasekacka on deviantart! I'm tickled to pieces!_

 _KING KARATHENIA: Thanks! :D I'm honored! ^_^_

 _WarWhales: hehehehehe well... you're about to find out what he says to Raphael... *zips lips, points down to chapter*_

 _Anonymous: LOL I'm glad you had the nice surprise of 3 new chaps :) Here's another!_

 _Guys I can't believe this, but we're actually winding down. Only one more chapter after this one... so please enjoy, and thanks again for how successful you've all made this story. You're wonderful!_

* * *

 **Chapter 12 – In Which John Makes a Decision**

John's jaw was tight, eyes narrowed and wary. As he understood things, the fact that this Raphael character was an archangel meant that he was much more dangerous than Castiel, and yet John had dropped the angel blade into the hay, hiding it. If he ended up needing it, it'd be too late, anyway. The hunter's eyes flicked briefly to the tarp in the darkened corner of the far stall, satisfying himself that the halo beneath it was completely invisible and holding still.

He wasn't sure how long he should it expect it to take the mega-halo to show up, but the blinding flash of light filled the barn almost immediately, forcing John to hold up a hand to shield his eyes. When it died away, the same figure he'd seen in his dreams was standing before him, another halo at its side subserviently.

"Well," Raphael said with a smile, eyes narrow and cold. "I see you've decided to protect your sons after all. I knew you would make the right decision, John Winchester. You humans may be puny and weak, but at least you're predictable."

"Puny and weak?" John repeated, raising an eyebrow. Though his heart burned with hatred for this thing standing before him, his voice remained mild. "I don't know about that. Seems like it was _my_ boys who managed to stop Lucifer." He grinned recklessly as Raphael's expression contorted with matching hatred. "Bet you didn't see that coming from us predictable humans."

The archangel stepped towards him, stance full of malice and threat. "Mind yourself, boy," it growled. "Don't imagine that you have nothing to lose. You have _everything_ to lose, and I will take it from you without hesitation. Now where is Castiel? Give him to me now."

"And what would you do with him if you had him?" John asked, consciously reminding himself not to look towards the tarp that was hiding the halo. That would only betray Castiel's position, and John still needed some answers from Raphael before he was ready to make a decision. "You told me he was a traitor, that he'd tried to destroy the world."

"Because he _is_ , and he _did_. What I have planned for him is none of your concern, but you may rest assured that he will suffer dearly for his sins. He won't be bothering your family anymore."

John studied Raphael, noting the expression of glee barely concealed in the archangel's dark features. One thing was certain: whatever Castiel's fate would be, Raphael would take great pleasure in carrying it out.

"Funny thing is," the hunter said slowly, "Sam and Dean seemed to have a different idea of things. Now don't get me wrong, I hate the halo. I hate all of you-"

"And you are not high on our lists either, John Winchester," Raphael interrupted with a smirk, though its words were colored with impatience. "Nor are your sons. But as I said, our business with Castiel is a family matter, none of your affair. Your job was to find your sons and the angel, and deliver him to us. Now where _is he_?"

"I wasn't finished," John informed the archangel, ice in his voice. The halo standing next to Raphael looked shocked, glancing quickly to its superior for a reaction. There was none, and John barreled on. "I don't like Castiel. But I'm starting to get the impression that you weren't entirely truthful with me. Hey, maybe it's none of my business… but you told me that if I handed Castiel over to you, you'd leave my boys alone." He smiled coolly, finishing, "So if I can't trust you… well, let's just say it kind of takes away my incentive. How do I know you'll honor your side of the deal?"

"You _dare_ question me?!" The archangel drew itself up, the air flickering with a static electricity so powerful that John's hair was standing on end.

It took everything to keep his face carefully neutral, not showing the unease that he couldn't help but feel. John was torn. A huge part of him wanted to rip the tarp back and show Raphael the captured angel, to let it drag Castiel back to Heaven to do whatever it wanted.

Halos were not to be trusted, after all. But… another part of him just wasn't as sure anymore that it was actually as black and white as he'd always believed. Castiel did seem to be a traitor to these halos, but what had he _actually_ rebelled against? And John couldn't forget what Castiel had said.

 _Being Dean and Sam's friend is more important than being an angel._

 _Not for you. I don't like you. But it's what's right._

 _I gave up everything that I was to save him._

It just didn't jive with what John knew of halos. Castiel spoke as though he'd made his choices of his own free will, choices that a monster wouldn't have made. It made no sense, just as it made no sense for Dean to actually threaten to leave with Sam and Castiel rather than obey a simple order.

"I warn you," Raphael growled when John didn't respond, "my patience is wearing thin. You were given more than enough time to capture Castiel while his attention was on Nimrod. Do you have him or not?"

The hunter paused to cant his head up towards the archangel, eyes betraying nothing. "How do you know about Nimrod?"

"Because I sent him to draw Castiel out! And I _will not ask again_! Where _is_ he?!" Raphael demanded, voice rising. Its dark eyes flashed with an eerie white-blue light, thunder starting to rumble in the distance.

John could only stare, his mouth dropping open in spite of himself. "So _you_ brought the Nephilim back?! _You_ set that monster loose?! It killed _six people_ -"

"You think I care about six insects?!" Raphael exploded. "I don't care what Nimrod had to do, I don't care if he killed the entire _town_ , your job was to capture Castiel and _give him to me_!"

"Raphael…" the other halo suddenly murmured, looking oddly uncomfortable. "I… I didn't know you were going to raise Nimrod. Forgive me, but surely it isn't worth putting human lives at risk, to retrieve one fallen brother?"

With a burning glower of brightly lit eyes, the archangel turned on its companion, extending one hand. The halo was slammed down onto the ground, gasping out in pain as its blade clattered from its grip.

"You take orders from _me_ ," Raphael hissed. "Don't ever question me again. Not unless you want to find yourself in Castiel's shoes."

John watched as the halo looked away, silently nodding its head in obedience. Pathetic. The hunter felt no pity for it at all, but his heart contracted painfully as his mind flashed to Sam and Dean, who he had beaten down so similarly. This archangel would clearly do anything to accomplish its mission, and damn anything that got in the way. The only thing that mattered was the end result, and John felt cold; why could he relate so fully? He was nothing at all like this monster.

 _...Nothing_ like it.

The hunter's fists curled. He'd never laid a hand on his boys before tonight, not more than the usual ass whuppings for discipline's sake, or the endless training. It had killed him, knocking them out like that, leaving them cuffed and unconscious—and unprotected. He could still hear Dean, too, reminding him of all the times he'd left them alone as children, how it had hurt them. John had done what he'd had to; but, god, the cost was so high. Of course it was a hard decision, but this was justice.

Castiel was an angel, and he deserved to be punished for the human blood he'd spilled. And yet, John's conviction had led to his sons getting hurt – by _his_ own hands. How could _any_ ends be justified by such means?

Castiel had been telling the truth, this archangel _would_ have killed Sam and Dean, had it found them. This hadn't just been a trap for the halo; it had been for all of them. And John would have walked straight into it, in the name of justice, to see Castiel gone. What had he done? In trying to protect his sons… he'd nearly gotten them killed, after first betraying them himself. Maybe… maybe he wasn't as fit to watch out for them as he'd thought.

"You, John Winchester," Raphael snarled, pointing at him imperiously. "You will tell me where Castiel is, or you _and_ your sons will pay dearly for your interference!"

The hunter crossed his arms, now all the more relieved that he'd taken pains to hide the halo before calling Raphael. He'd suspected that _if_ Castiel had been telling him the truth, the archangel would make it known. And so it had.

Finally, his decision was clear.

"Yeah, about that," John said easily. "That's what I called you here to tell you. I don't know where they are. They must have figured out what I was doing, because they took the halo and left. It'll take me some time to track them down again, and get Castiel alone. I'll call you as soon as I do."

The hunter turned to leave, ready to make his escape. He would come back to get Castiel out as soon as these two had left, then he'd go get Sam and Dean, and… well, he'd be lucky if they ever spoke to him again.

"Will you?"

Raphael's ice cold voice stopped John in his tracks, and the barn door blew closed so ferociously that it nearly snapped off. The hunter turned back with a raised eyebrow.

"What?"

The archangel's gaze narrowed on him, suspicious and furious. "Will you call, indeed? Or… is this your ruse to escape?"

John frowned. "Of course I'll call, I want it gone."

There was a long stretch of silence. The other halo stood in the background, uselessly looking between the two, but Raphael's mouth tightened more and more, until it sighed and rubbed its forehead with slender fingers. "You know," Raphael said, "I can tell when I'm being lied to. You have no intention of handing him over. Which makes you… well, useless, really."

Shit. The hunter felt a shiver race down his spine with dread. He held as still as possible, as Raphael took one more step towards him. The archangel's hand raised, its expression thunderous.

"Last chance, Winchester. You _will_ track them down. You _will_ capture Castiel. You _will_ bring him to me, no matter what the cost."

To hell with it. John had hoped to get out of this alive, but if that wasn't an option, then his last act would _not_ be kissing the ass of some archangel. He grinned, reckless and defiant.

"Actually… I don't think I will."

"I will _kill_ your sons if you do not!"

This time, John laughed outright. "You'll have to find them, first," he pointed out, spreading his arms invitingly. "And if you could find them, you wouldn't have needed me. You were never actually going to let us live, were you? You played me, archangel. Shove it up your ass, I'm not going to be your pawn, so you might as well send me back to Heaven and be done with it."

Raphael moved towards him with a face of wrath and vengeance, but John stood his ground. His first duty was to protect his sons, not to choose to worry about the monster instead. And as for Castiel… well, as much as he'd thought the halo deserved death, he was certain now that Castiel didn't deserve whatever Raphael was going to do to him.

They regarded each other for a moment, each gauging the other, and John could see his own death in Raphael's eyes. But for Sam and Dean's sake, that was the choice he would make every single time. The archangel's expression tightened, and it shrugged.

"So be it."

 _Sorry, Sam…_ John thought, raising his chin. _S_ orry, _Dean…_

The archangel snapped its fingers, and John Winchester disintegrated into nothingness.

SPN SPN SPN

Castiel held absolutely still, even after the terrible presence of Raphael had disappeared. He was in a state of complete shock. John Winchester hadn't given him up to the archangel… he'd died himself instead. Only a Winchester would have dared speak to Raphael like that. Though Castiel thought Dean and Sam were far better men than John, he could certainly see some of the shared traits.

Dean… Sam… he had to find them, which meant getting himself loose somehow. Unfortunately, John tied a good knot, and Castiel's human strength wasn't enough to break free. Dean and Sam were quite talented at getting themselves out of these situations, but Castiel had no experience in this whatsoever. The angel struggled, managing to shrug the tarp off of him.

The gag had been pulled out and pushed back in enough times that the rag had loosened, allowing him to work it out of his mouth without too much difficulty. Disgustedly, the angel spat and coughed, trying to rid himself of the vile taste. He desperately wanted to clean himself off, feeling sticky and dirty from the oil and the dust he'd been sitting in.

Castiel eyed his bound wrists, connected to the gate. He tried to stand, but couldn't get up very far, and even the additional leverage wasn't enough for him to physically pull free. Perhaps he could undo the knot himself, but the angel couldn't feel his fingers anymore, hands numb from how tightly John had restrained him. His angel blade would have worked, had it been close enough for him to reach instead of on the other side of the stall.

Sitting back down with a heavy breath, Castiel shook his head. Great. How was he supposed to get free?

"You just going to sit there all night, or think about escaping?"

Castiel twisted around, eyebrow raised, to see the faintly glowing outline of John Winchester standing close by, watching him. The angel's eyes flicked towards the open barn door, where another dark figure stood by waiting passively. John's reaper.

"I told him he could give me a minute," John explained. Somehow, it didn't surprise Castiel that John would start giving orders to his own reaper before crossing over fully. The angel turned back to John with a frown.

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you protect me?" Castiel asked, suspicious and unsure. "You would stand up to Raphael for me?"

"No, not for you," John retorted, echoing Castiel's own words. "I don't like you. But it's what's right." John's spirit looked up, seeming to be gathering his strength, before he finally grumbled, "Look, I don't say this very often but… maybe I was wrong about you. Maybe you're not such a monster after all."

Coming from John Winchester, that was high praise for an angel. Castiel looked at the ground, though, still able to hear Lucifer:

 _Let me show you every ounce of pain you have caused others in your lifetime, and you tell me who is the monster._

"I'm not innocent, John," the angel admitted. "I _have_ killed humans. My kind have caused a great deal of pain and suffering-"

"Yeah, including what happened to Mary. I'll never forgive you," John snapped as he crossed his arms. Castiel closed his eyes, but the hunter paused before going on, "But apparently that's what you turned your back on. You know, I tried to convince Dean to leave you behind, and he wouldn't have it. I wanted to blame you for that. Sam, of course, wanted to fight me about you from the beginning, no real surprise there…"

John's spirit shrugged, and Castiel felt another flare of warmth infuse his being with healing light, to hear of his friends' loyalty. But what would they say when they discovered that John had been killed because of him, that they'd lost their father yet again?

"I didn't want this to happen to you," the angel murmured out loud, watching John with pain in his eyes. "I… I wanted this to work out. John, you should have left me here. This isn't what Dean and Sam wanted."

"Sam and Dean won't forgive me for taking you," John replied. "Look, let's not make it a thing. You saved Sammy's life. I saved yours. That makes us even, and any debt they have to you is paid off. So if they stick with you now… well, that's their choice."

"Oh." Honestly, Castiel hadn't seen it as a debt before, he hadn't thought they owed him anything. Was that the only reason they'd fought so hard? If he hadn't saved Sam from the Cage, would they have still held on as tightly as they had? Had he perhaps mistaken loyalty for mere obligation, in his desperation to find a family to take him in?

"I can't stay long," John reminded the angel now, glancing over his shoulder at the reaper still waiting. "The way I see it, I wasn't supposed to be here anyway, so it doesn't matter if I get sent back. If you were willing to sacrifice everything to protect my sons, then I'm leaving them in better hands than mine. I wasn't... always the best father." He paused, then finished softly, "You were right. They _did_ deserve better."

It was so rare to hear John Winchester sound so uncertain that Castiel couldn't respond immediately. The angel frowned, then sighed. "John, I shouldn't have said that. It's true, of course, but I probably wasn't supposed to say so. They both know you did the best you could. Even if I don't agree with everything you did, they turned out fine. They're _good_ men."

"Yes, they are." John's ghost stepped towards Castiel now, pointing a finger at him warningly. "Don't make me regret this, halo. Take care of my sons."

Castiel nodded, though that had never been in question. "I always will."

There was nothing more to say between them; the reaper in the background stepped forward now, tapping his wristwatch pointedly, and John shot him a glare.

"Hold your damn horses, I'm coming." He gave the angel one last look, half smiling. "Make sure they know I love them… Castiel."

Again, Castiel nodded, watching as the reaper took John's hand, and they faded away. The barn was empty and dark, and the angel leaned back against the side of the stall he was still trapped in. He had expected tonight to go very differently, and couldn't quite wrap his head around it all.

Of course, there was still the most pressing problem of being tied up in a barn in the middle of nowhere. Castiel remembered that he still had his phone in his pocket – John never had taken it away from him – and briefly contemplated trying to get his hands on it to call Dean.

He never had to. The angel jumped slightly when the barn door slammed open again. Two pairs of footsteps came pounding through the doorway, two figures silhouetted against a gradually lightening sky.

"Cas?!" a panicked voice shouted. "Cas!"

"Over here, Dean."

"Sammy!"

"Got it."

A powerful light flicked on, and Castiel squinted into the blinding beam as it landed on him. More footsteps, racing towards him now as two bodies thudded down next to him, talking over each other anxiously.

"Cas, are you alright?!"

"Where's Raphael?! Where's Dad? Are you hurt, did he hurt you?"

"We got here as soon as we could, we had to follow the tire tracks-"

"Son of a _bitch_ , talk to me, Cas, what happened?!"

Castiel held still as Dean took the angel's face and turned it this way and that, the way he always did to Sam when checking for injuries. Sam had already pulled his knife out, hacking at the thick rope that kept Castiel lashed to the stall gate. The angel sighed with relief as his hands finally came free, blood flow starting to return painfully.

"That _bastard_!" Dean snarled, now working on the handcuffs. "I'm going to beat him to a _pulp_ for this, that-" He followed with a string of curses, each angrier than the last, while Sam jumped to his feet and grabbed Cas's angel blade from where it sat nearby, then stood over the two in wary protection.

"I don't understand!" Sam snapped over his shoulder to the angel. "Where's Raphael? I thought Dad was turning you over to them, Cas! Where did he go?"

"Either way," growled Dean, "we gotta get out of here, _now_!"

The handcuffs finally came free, and Castiel exhaled slowly, rubbing his bruised wrists and wincing. He'd never realized such things hurt so badly. Dean was trying to haul him up, but the hunter only had one good arm and the angel's feet took some convincing before they would support him fully.

"Cas, _talk to me_!" Dean shouted, apparently seeing that the angel was having a hard time. "What did he _do_ to you?!"

"Dean, calm down," Castiel finally replied, rubbing his forehead. "I'm not hurt. But… Dean, Sam… your dad…"

"-is gonna _pay_!" Dean snapped.

Castiel shook his head, holding his hand out towards Sam for his angel blade. The younger Winchester handed it over, seeming unhappy when Castiel stowed it away in his sleeve instead of keeping it out. It was a relief to have his weapon once more. At least his wrists were already starting to heal themselves. Turning to his two friends, the angel bit his lip.

"No, Dean," he said. "Raphael killed your father and left." The angel closed his eyes. "He's gone."

The two Winchesters fell into shocked silence, no sound but the lonely wind brushing through the barn and scattering dusty hay gently across the floor. Castiel hesitated to say any more, knowing that it was because of him, but the boys deserved to know what had happened.

"John changed his mind," he explained quietly. "Raphael is the one who put him back on Earth, in order to find you, and therefore me. I can only imagine the things he told John to help stir up his hatred, but in the end, John couldn't go through with it. He refused, so... Raphael sent him back to Heaven."

Dean hadn't said anything yet, but traded a quick look with Sam, neither face readable. The angel was certain that they would need some time to process this, as he would himself, but this _was_ their father. He released his breath in a shuddering exhale, turning away.

"I didn't want this," he whispered. "I'm so sorry. This is my fault-"

"No, Cas, it's not," Dean interrupted, grabbing the angel's arm and turning him back around. "Cas, listen to me. It's not your fault. That… that's Dad."

"We're just glad you're okay. God, when Dean told me what Dad was doing… where he was taking you… Cas, we were afraid that you were dead."

Sam's voice sounded sincere, his face white and tense, but it didn't change how guilty Castiel himself felt over this. He could feel both Winchesters on either side of him, still steadfast and loyal in a way that the angels had forgotten to be. There was still a great deal to be explained, a great deal to be told, but all Castiel wanted to do right now was rest and eat.

"Come on," Dean said firmly, propelling the group towards the barn door. "I say we blow this popsicle stand."

With a nod, Castiel moved to join them, then stopped. "But, Dean," he said in confusion. "There's no popsicles here. Wait… Dean?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13 – In Which There Are Many Feels**

Though there was little worry that Raphael was on their trail, the three got in the Impala and didn't stop driving until they'd left Idaho far behind. They stopped once, letting Castiel off at a truck stop to shower and change, while they took his grimy clothes to a laundromat to get the oil and dirt out. Then they hit the road again, none of the three in the mood for conversation after the initial explanations.

Sam wasn't entirely sure how to feel at the moment; on the one hand, he would never, _ever_ forget walking into that plant and seeing Cas bound, gagged, and bloody because of John Winchester. Sam would never be okay with what his father had done to Cas, just as he would never be okay with how John had raised him and Dean.

But… now his dad was dead. Again.

The younger hunter rarely tried to hide his feelings, and so he let his emotions drip down his face, tight and withdrawn with grief. The crazy thing was, he'd wanted to believe things would be okay _just_ as much as Dean. Sam had refused to blind himself for so long, but he had still been completely taken in when John grudgingly agreed for the four of them to stay together in the end, because it was what he'd desperately wanted. It was what he'd _always_ wanted, for his dad to show himself to be a good, reasonable, kind man.

As though he hadn't known full well that John Winchester was capable of deception. As though his dad hadn't once looked him right in the eye and said he hadn't had any idea what Yellow Eyes had planned for Sam, even though he'd actually known _exactly_ what would happen. No, Sam should never have believed that it would be okay, and now his dad was just gone, leaving a hole that had never been filled for Sam.

But at the same time, his father had ended up defying Raphael, refusing to sell out the angel that he himself wanted to kill. Sam wished he knew what exactly had changed John's mind. He hadn't thought that even possible. Though, the revelation that Raphael had been behind it all – bringing back not only their father, but the Nephilim, just in the hopes of catching Castiel – should have been enough to shock anyone into turning against the archangel.

Actually, Sam wasn't even all that surprised to hear what Raphael had done.

"Dean, we should stop for food soon," the younger hunter said out loud, breaking the long stretch of silence that had cast its shadow over their little group for the past few hours. He glanced at Cas in the backseat, who quickly looked away. Sam heard the angel's stomach grumble in agreement, though, and he frowned. "Cas, you hungry?"

"I… I could probably use some food."

"Good, I'm _starving_ ," Dean said. "Cas, maybe you shouldn't go for weeks at a time without eating, huh, buddy? Could have just eaten with us when I said you should."

Sam glared at his brother, but Dean calmly flicked his turn signal on to slide into the next lane, looking for a diner they could pull into. "We're just worried, Cas," Sam clarified. "I know you're not used to needing to eat, but it'd probably make you feel better if you get some food now and then."

"Yes, I agree."

But there was a sense of failure in his voice, and Sam bit back a sigh. He wasn't sure how to get it through to the angel that there was nothing wrong with that, that there were worse things than requiring food. He wished he'd known just how much their friend needed the nutrition that he hadn't been getting.

"Listen," Cas spoke up again, staring out the window as they pulled into the small parking lot of a local diner. "Now that this is over, I'll understand if you want to let me off here. I- I can make my own way."

Sam stared at the angel, baffled, then traded a shocked look with Dean.

"Why the _hell_ would we do that?" Dean demanded. "I mean, what the hell, man?"

Cas didn't answer, still looking out the window. The brothers traded another look, then Sam tried,

"After everything that just happened, why would you think we'd leave you now? Cas, haven't we proven that we're sticking with you?"

"Your father was killed, saving me-"

"After kidnapping you and dragging your ass off to Raphael in the first place!" Dean snapped.

Cas turned to them at last, weary resolve in his eyes. "My point is, any debt you might think you have because of my help with the Apocalypse and… the thing with Sam… your father more than paid. You don't have to-"

"You think we stuck with you over a _debt_?!"

Sam winced at the anger in his hot-blooded brother's voice, hoping that Cas understood the anger wasn't actually directed at him. Dean snorted, getting out of the car and slamming the door shut behind him. The other two scrambled out after him, the angel looking even guiltier now.

"Dean?" Cas called, sounding downtrodden. Dean just shook his head, arms crossed as he kept his back turned. Sam approached slowly, not getting in his brother's space. As much trouble as he himself was having dealing with all of this, he could only imagine how hard it was for Dean, betrayed by the man he'd idolized.

Sighing, shoulders hunched, Cas closed his eyes. "I'm sorry, Dean."

"No, see, you just don't get it, man," Dean snapped, spinning around to face the angel. "Everything we've been through together, everything we've faced… you know, I was ready to _walk out_ on my dad so you could stay, and you'd cheapen that to be some kind of _obligation_? What the hell?"

"Cas, don't get me wrong, we _do_ owe you everything," Sam pointed out softly. "But this has never been about repaying you. You're one of us."

There was a pause, and the angel turned his head. His voice, when he spoke, was full of anguish so deep that it gave Sam a chill. "I won't ever _really_ be one of you, though, will I? Maybe you don't see me as a monster… but I'm _not_ a human. I'm not… a Winchester. I'm not really anything."

"Okay, you know what?" Dean snapped, storming back towards the Impala. "I can't listen to this. Sam, get him something to eat!"

Sam only nodded, watching helplessly as Dean got in the car and roared away. Great. Obviously Dean needed some space, but he hoped it wouldn't take too long. He chanced a look at Cas, but the angel was staring up at the sky in clear anxiety and frustration.

"Dad really did a number on you, didn't he?" Sam asked, finally catching Cas's eye. The angel frowned.

"I'm almost fully healed, Sam," he pointed out brusquely, as though it was the physical marks that had Sam worried. "You know, everything I'd ever known and been for _billions_ of years is just gone, along with most of my grace. It's a handicap I just can't get used to. I'm almost human, only I'm _not_ , but I'm not truly an angel anymore, either. I don't fit in either world, do you _know_ what that feels like?"

Sam gave his friend an ironic half-smile, shrugging. "Yeah." It hadn't been exactly easy to live down being the boy with the demon blood, after all. His own brother had even called him a freak, and his dreams of a normal life were just that: dreams. "But I've got Dean, and that's the important thing. We don't exactly fit in the real world either, Cas. But we stick together, just like we'll stick with you."

Cas didn't smile or relax, but then again, he usually didn't. Sam thought some of the weight seemed to disappear off his shoulders, though. Cas nodded slowly.

"I'm sorry for doubting your motives," he said with a sigh. "John…"

"Didn't know what he was talking about. You'll see," Sam finished for him, clapping the angel on the shoulder before heading towards the diner's front door. "Come on, I'm starving."

SPN SPN SPN

Dean almost wished a demon or a vampire would cross his path, just so he'd have an excuse to kill something. Anything would be better than being stuck with the memory of his best friend assuring him that some stupid debt had been paid and they could dump him out with the garbage now.

The hunter smacked the steering wheel hard, and then once again just for good measure, ignoring the throb it caused his right shoulder.

"Stupid son of a bitch," he growled, though even he didn't know who that was actually directed at. Why did his dad have to be such a bastard? Why had he himself not seen right through John as Sam had, too lost in his own hero worship of someone who had ended up not deserving it and maybe never had? Why did Cas have to actually let the asshole get in his head?!

Dean hit the steering wheel again, then sighed with a touch of remorse. "Sorry, baby," he muttered, rubbing the wheel more gently. Shit, was he actually pinning any of this on Cas? The angel had been struggling to find his place ever since losing everything he'd ever known. But damn it, how could he have honestly believed that Dean had fought so hard for him only to satisfy a debt?

"Dad, you really are a bastard," Dean grumbled, shaking his head. He snorted. "I could've forgiven you for _everything_ you did to me… but you never should've laid a hand on Sam or Cas. You got what you deserved, you son of a bitch."

Dean's heart twisted, gut wrenching so powerfully that he almost had to pull over, and he felt his eyes burn. Of course he didn't mean it… he hadn't wished his father dead. The words were born of anger, not only for what his dad had done, but because he was gone now. Again. His father had _left_ him, just like he always did, because if there was one person in the entire world that Dean could always count on... it was not John Winchester. True, he had saved Cas, but that wouldn't have even been _necessary_ if he hadn't kidnapped the angel to begin with. God, just remembering the sight of his best friend being dragged away while he could do _shit_ about it.. it was as bad as imagining somebody taking _Sam_ away, hauling him off to be killed, and Dean helpless as- god, no. The thought made him want to panic again.

The hunter supposed he should be relieved that Cas's story had been enough to change John's mind, or that he'd even given the angel a chance to tell his story at all. Truthfully, telling John to ask about it had been a Hail Mary play, and Dean couldn't believe it had worked.

But now, after everything Cas _had_ done for them, how the hell was Dean supposed to help his best friend, to undo the damage that John had caused? How was he supposed to get Cas to see that he _did_ belong with them, that his presence in their lives was borne of friendship and family, not obligation?

An idea was forming in Dean's mind, and he pulled out his cell phone, quickly dialing his brother.

"Sammy."

 _"Dean! Are you okay?"_

"Yeah, I'm okay," he assured Sam, though it was hardly the truth. "Just… god, I can't believe I fell for it. I can't believe I thought he'd ever come around."

There was a pause, then a sigh. _"Dean… Dad- he was still a good man. He might've eventually-"_

"No, Sam." Dean swallowed hard, finally admitting the truth he'd always refused to see. "Dad might not have been a _bad_ person, but he was never _right_ after losing Mom. You never knew him from before. I did. I always thought _that_ man would come back eventually, but our dad was gone the minute that Mom died."

Another silence filled the line between them, until Dean snorted with disgust at himself. "Dad was _never_ going to accept Cas, Sammy. I should've known that better than anyone. This is my fault."

 _"It was DAD'S fault. I wanted to believe it, too."_

"Yeah, but you didn't. So, um…" Dean swallowed, eyes flicking up quickly for strength to get the words out, sappy as they were. "Thanks for being too stubborn to let it go. If you hadn't been…" No, he couldn't even stomach the thought. If Sam hadn't been supporting Cas, their angel might well be gone by now, an idea that shook Dean to his core. "Tell me the truth, how's Cas?"

 _"Um…"_ Sam hesitated, probably not wanting the angel to know they were talking about him, and his voice dropped lower. _"Not too good."_

Dean nodded, hearing the unsaid accusation for having probably made it worse by storming off. "Figures. I have an idea, though, I think it'll help."

 _"What?"_

"Something I need to pick up for him. Just make sure he knows we're not gonna leave him alone, alright? I'll meet you back at the diner in about an hour. And hey, grab me some pie."

Dean hung up, eyes burning with intensity. He would never get any closure with his dad now and he had no idea how he was supposed to feel or how to reconcile so many conflicting emotions. He'd lost his father, in every possible way; the hero of his childhood was gone for good.

But Cas was still there, and Dean would not lose his best friend as well.

SPN SPN SPN

They'd been sitting in the diner for over an hour now, and Castiel was starting to feel more guilty. It had been a relief to eat, though, and he seemed to be stronger already; perhaps his grace would remain at optimal levels if he kept his vessel's health as high as possible.

"Dean's going to be pissed when he hears they didn't have any pie," Sam muttered, checking the time again.

There was a loud honk from outside, and the two looked out the window to see Dean in the Impala, waving them out. Castiel followed Sam as his friend grabbed the paper bag of food they'd gotten for Dean and left the diner.

"Okay," Dean announced as soon as they'd gotten in the car. He paused to take the paper bag, digging through it for a second before turning to Sam in the front passenger seat. "Dude, where's my pie?"

"Not my fault," Sam protested, sparking an argument that was becoming comfortably familiar, enough that the angel couldn't help but smile a little. Dean, of course, grumbled for a minute, but at least he didn't seem to be angry with Castiel anymore. The angel was glad; it was too hard to bear the anger of his closest friends on top of everything else.

"Anyway," Sam prompted his brother impatiently.

"Anyway," Dean agreed, before trading the bag of food for another bag he'd had in his lap. To Castiel's surprise, the hunter twisted in his seat and held it out to him. "Cas, I don't want to hear any more crap about you not belonging, got it? So we're just gonna make this official."

Frowning inquisitively, Castiel accepted the bag and examined it. He could see Sam giving Dean a grin in the front seat.

"What is this?"

"Open it and you'll see."

Slowly, leaning back in the center of the backseat, the angel opened the paper bag, pulling out the contents. Castiel caught his breath, a shock running through his system.

"But… Dean, I…"

He trailed off, staring at the handgun – a nickel-plated Colt, identical to Dean and Sam's… the ones they'd each been given on their 18th birthday, signifying that they were men of the Winchester family.

"Nice one, Dean," Sam murmured, and Castiel caught Dean shrugging self-consciously.

"It's just a gun," the older hunter muttered. "I know you've still got your angel blade and all, but… you know…"

"It… says CW."

"Yeah, well…" Dean cleared his throat. "The W is, you know… Winchester. Like me and Sam."

One thing was absolutely certain… this was not "just" a gun. Castiel's throat tightened, the engraved initials blurring slightly as his vision grew moist. "I…" he said, voice growling slightly. "I don't know what to say."

"Don't say anything," Dean quickly said. "Seriously. I don't do chick flick moments."

"It's pretty simple, Cas," Sam pointed out with a grin. "It means you're one of us. You're a Winchester. As long as we're around, there'll always be a place where you belong. Doesn't matter if you're an angel or human or something in between. Family is what matters."

"God, Sam, what did I _just_ say about chick flick moments?" Dean grumbled, before rubbing the back of his neck and awkwardly muttering, "Uh, what he said, though, Cas."

A genuine smile crept across the angel's face as he turned the gun over in his hands, studying every line. The doubts he'd held about just how welcome he'd be here were starting to fade, feeling more like he had with Dean and Sam before they'd ever come across John Winchester.

Even when he'd considered himself part of the group, though, he would have never attached Winchester to his name, never would have even thought they would consider him that close.

The angel swallowed hard, looking up at the two, the friends who had come back for him, who would defy orders to protect him… as he had done for them. "Thank you," Castiel whispered, voice breaking in a way he wasn't used to. "I… just… thank you."

Maybe he really had found an actual family again. True, it wasn't his original family, and true, it was a strange one… broken and patched up so many times that it was a crazy quilt of strength, heart, and loyalty. But it was where Castiel wanted to stay.

It was family.

That was all that mattered.

 _Fin_

* * *

 _A/N: Unbelievable but here we finally are at the end of this little tale. ^_^ Thanks first and foremost to the ever talented Aini NuFire, for all the tips, suggestions, and overall encouragement that helped push this along._

 _Thanks with all my writer's heart to Miyth who pitched this idea in the first place and set a raging plot bunny in motion! I hope this is what you were looking for, and it's been a joy and an honor to fill your request! :D_

 _Thanks to all readers and favoriters, and especially reviewers, who paid me far more than royalties are worth in your compliments, encouragement, and enthusiasm :) Thank you SPN Mum, LadyWallace (I can't wait to catch up on your fics!), BranchSuper, Valeria Aurelia, OntheRun246, Amydiddle, TalarAleya (danke schön!), Trucklady53, shootingstarsonfire, pajasekacka (děkuji!), Once-Upon-a-Slash-Story, Fangirl, Dani, Blue Sailor, sunshine102897, MaddyR, AndiTheMagnificent, LinktoTwilight, Kagalei, HannahMaree, Jinx2016, Thornsword, WarWhales, CallMeAnonymous9, ShivaVixen, ChelGallifreyHookCas221B613, WRATH77, Deactivated123476, SPN Girl 14, KING KERATHINA, jkwhedon1919, Lone Dark Wolf, a.k.a. T.R (hvala!), rettop20, hollybridgetpeppermint, and Mayrachan1._

 _Thanks in advance to anonymous reviewers for this chapter because I won't be able to reply to you._

* * *

 **Stay tuned for the prequel fic "Worth It", coming soon...**

 _"I'm going after Sam, Dean. If it's in my power, I'll bring him back."_

Castiel crept through the Cage as silently as possible, tense and ready for an attack. The angel blade in his hand was really more for his own comfort than for any practical use. If he ran into Lucifer, it would be worthless anyway, but the soldier felt better with his weapon drawn.

A soft cry tore from the angel's throat as he finally caught a glimpse of a shape farther ahead through the branches. "Sam!" he called hoarsely, rushing forward into a hollow as he saw – unbelievably – that his human friend was unguarded. Perhaps Lucifer was elsewhere, fighting with Michael. If so, this window of opportunity might not last long.

Sam Winchester was curled on his side on the dark floor of the massive prison, unmoving. His clothes were in tatters, barely clinging to his wasted form. The poor human was shivering uncontrollably, the only sign that he was alive at all, and while the blood and bruises were bad enough, it was his eyes that nearly drove Castiel to his knees.

There was nothing. Nothing at all. Not even fear, not even despair. Those were the eyes of a dead man, stripped of all humanity, all self, all sanity. Castiel's stomach turned, and his heart quaked; was he too late?

Sam shifted then, and Castiel gasped with surprise and hope. Had the human realized he was there? "Sam, it's me. It's Castiel. I've come to get you out."

Though, he wasn't sure yet _how_ he would do so. The angel frowned, registering now that the shadows had condensed and tightened into solid coils that wrapped around Sam's wrists, binding them behind him. When Castiel tentatively reached out to touch the shadow restraints, they felt smooth and cold, like metal made purely of darkness.

"Hold on, Sam," he urged quietly, not certain if the hunter could hear him or not.

The shadows which wrapped the hunter's wrists were emanating from the rest of the surrounding tendrils that spread across the ground, effectively chaining Sam to the floor. With no other ideas, Castiel raised his blade, striking the shadow as hard as he could.

It was useless. The angel held back a cry as his arm was jarred painfully at the impact, but nothing could silence the resounding clang that seemed to echo off every shriveled tree, every dying leaf. Castiel's fear multiplied; he'd just informed Lucifer that he was there.

"Sam, I _will_ get you free, I just-"

The angel broke off, ice touching his heart as the bottom of his stomach dropped. The shadows… they were whispering.

They were saying his name.

 _"Castiel… is that YOU, Castiel? Hello, brother…"_

And then, Lucifer was standing before him. An insane smile lit the devil's face.

 _"_ Oh, now... this is going to be fun."


End file.
